Healing
by Satan Abraham
Summary: Healing. For Bill, it means trying to put Ralph back together. For Maurice, it's trying to make the newly escaped-from-insane-asylum Roger into a type of person that can function in society. For Jack, it's just trying to hold himself together. All of this is working well, until a series of tragedies occur that gets Roger loose and ready to do anything he can to get what he wants.
1. Chapter One: Bill

Five years after the island.

Bill was having a fairly okay time – he'd come home to a new little sister, which had been kind of weird, but he was getting used to it. Almost as soon as he'd gotten back from the island, his parents had taken him and moved him far away from any of the others. Something about 'everyone else being psychotic except that poor boy Ralph and those cute little twins.'

Bill was fairly certain that, if everyone else was considered psychotic, he should be considered psychotic, too. After all, he'd been savage, too. Not as savage as Roger or Jack, but savage nonetheless.

But he wasn't complaining.

He hadn't seen any of the other kids from the island in the five years he'd been back. Once he'd seen a pair of twins that he swore were Samneric, but when he looked again they were gone.

And then one day, while he was walking home from school, he noticed that someone was moving in next door. Naturally, he completely ignored the phenomenon and continued into his house. He had homework to get to, after all. And a small child to watch, because she got out of school twenty minutes earlier than he did, so she was always home alone for a few minutes.

He couldn't avoid the new people that had moved in forever, though, and soon they knocked on his door. Bill set Cecelia up with a piece of paper and a pencil and went to go answer the door.

On the other side of the door was Ralph.

"Oh," Bill said. "Hey, Ralph."

Ralph quite obviously didn't recognize him. "How do you know my name?" he asked. Bill rolled his eyes.

"It's Bill."

"Bill who?"

"From… you know…"

Ralph paled and backed up a few steps, nearly toppling off of Bill's porch.

Yep, he'd remembered.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you," Bill said, rolling his eyes. "Come in."

Ralph hesitated.

"C'mon, it's not like it's Jack or Roger," Bill said. Ralph hesitated for a few more moments, then Bill grabbed his hand and pulled him in. Ralph tensed up, but Bill ignored that. "I'm not psychotic."

"It's just weird," Ralph said. He looked a lot different than he had when they'd first landed on the island – he'd gotten taller, but he was thin. Too thin. His hair was too long, as if to hide his face, and he had dark shadows under his eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping well. _For five years? _Bill wondered _Hasn't he forgotten already? _

"Do you want something to eat?" Bill asked. Ralph shook his head and Bill shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They made their way to the living room. Ralph sat perched on the edge of the couch like he was ready for something to attack him. Bill slumped into the couch, watching Cecelia draw at the little coffee table. Ralph, too, took an interest in Cecelia.

"What are you drawing?" he asked her. She looked up at him and smiled.

"We're learning farm animals in school. I'm drawing a piggy," she said. Ralph paled and Bill buried his face in his hands. Of all the things she could've been drawing… and she couldn't have just called it a _pig_? It would still probably be emotionally damaging to Ralph, but not _as _emotionally damaging.

"Why don't you go get some cookies?" Bill suggested to Cecelia, who nodded and bounded away. "Sorry about that."

Ralph nodded. He was gaining some of his color back, and Bill awkwardly put an arm around his shoulders. He was not sure what he was doing – no, he had no idea what he was doing. Not at all. But Ralph leaned into him, so it worked.

Bill was suddenly aware of how close they were. He shifted, and Ralph shifted with him. "So…" Bill said, trailing off. Ralph looked up at him. "How's it been?"

"Okay," Ralph said. His voice was quiet – too quiet. He really was nothing like the Ralph Bill had known on the island. The Ralph from the island had been confident, boyish, playful… this kid was just quiet.

He needed to loosen up a bit.

"Why don't you stay over tonight?" Bill suggested. Ralph looked a bit hesitant. "If anything happens… well…"

"I do live just over there…" Ralph trailed off. Bill grinned.

"Right. Go tell your parents you'll be staying over. I'll… make sure Cecelia doesn't get in too much trouble."

* * *

It was a fact. Bill was undeniably attracted to Ralph.

Ralph had taken a shower before the two went up to Bill's room to get away from Cecelia. And Ralph had apparently not completely dried off his hair, because it was still stuck to his face and it was really, really attractive.

Bill had thought that he didn't like boys.

Maybe he was right about that, but he certainly liked Ralph.

"Hi," Bill said. His voice was near to cracking. Ralph nodded to him and sat down on the floor next to him – too close, too close, Bill was fairly certain that he was just going to jump on Ralph if he got any closer.

Ralph got closer.

Bill tensed up. He was almost having to physically restrain himself from just grabbing Ralph and molesting him. Ralph really needed to stop being so damn attractive. "You're looking at me funny," Ralph said. Bill flushed a dark red.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. They sat there, just looking at each other for a few moments before Ralph moved a little bit closer.

Okay, now he was just being mean.

Bill grabbed his head and kissed him. Ralph squeaked, startled, and the two fell over, Ralph's back pressing against the floor. Ralph gaped up at him. Bill, who was still bright red, just stared down at Ralph.

"Oh," Ralph said.

"Yeah."

It was an awkward silence for a few more minutes until Bill kissed Ralph again. This time Ralph responded in a better way than falling over, reaching up and grabbing Bill's head to pull him closer. They were growing increasingly tangled, Ralph's hands buried in Bill's light hair and Bill's hands pushing Ralph's hair away from his face so that he could get a better angle. Their legs were tangled already.

Bill heard someone running up the stairs but didn't register it until his door was pushed open. Cecelia stood on the other side, gaping. "Bill!" she said. "You have a boyfriend."

Bill scrambled off of Ralph, bright red once again. Ralph sat up. "Uh," Bill said. "If possible, could you not mention this to Mom and Dad?"

* * *

**So, this is the first chapter! I'm not quite sure what this is going to entail, but I just really fell in love with this pairing. And also Bill. **


	2. Chapter Two: Bill

Dinner was a somber affair. Ralph was the perfect amount of polite – Bill could tell that his mother liked the boy, which was good. His father made his usual show of finishing first and leaving the table to go watch something on the television. Cecelia had promised to not tell, but every few seconds she looked at Bill and Ralph and giggled. Bill glared at her as much was possible without it being obvious that he was glaring at her.

Bill was getting quite good at glaring at people without it being obvious that he was glaring at them.

After a while, Bill noticed that Ralph was pushing his food around on his plate and not really eating. Bill finished chewing and stood up, grabbing Ralph by the wrist as he did so. "We're going to go up to my room," Bill said. His mother looked at them and nodded, and Bill pulled Ralph upstairs, Cecelia yelling at them to 'have fun' after them.

They ended up sitting on Bill's bed. Bill had a fairly large bed – he always had, mostly because when he'd been younger he'd had a habit of falling out, and this problem was solved by getting him the biggest bed possible. Now he could twist and turn all he wanted and he wouldn't fall out. Usually. "Where am I sleeping?" Ralph asked. He was too damn quiet. Bill had to strain to hear him.

"You can just sleep with me," Bill said, shrugging. After he said this, both him and Ralph turned red. "I mean, if you want to. If you're extremely against it, then, you don't have to, I can sleep on the floor-"

"No, it's okay," Ralph said. Bill nodded, managing an awkward smile. He didn't know about Ralph, but he was certainly thinking about what had happened before dinner.

They continued on with casual conversation until Bill's mother poked her head in to remind them that they had school tomorrow and that they should probably get to sleep. Bill nodded and slid off the bed. He took off his shirt and pants without thinking – he always slept in just his underwear. Ralph followed his example, and Bill couldn't help but stare a little.

Ralph was skinnier than he'd been on the island, and he was pale – too pale. He looked like he spent most of his time inside, not eating much. Bill could practically count the other boy's ribs, and his hipbones jutted out almost dangerously. Ralph noticed him staring and responded with a hint of his old personality. "What? Do you like what you see?"

Bill was speechless. "I- uh-"

Ralph laughed, but only for a second. He was back to quiet, reserved Ralph in a few moments. "Should we get to bed?" he asked, flushing immediately after speaking. Bill nodded, thankful that he was once again the one who had it together, the one who knew what he was doing. He _hated _being caught off-guard.

Bill let Ralph get in the bed before flipping off the lights switch and felt his way to the bed. He was lucky – he didn't accidentally fall over Ralph getting into the bed. Really, there would be room for both of them to have plenty of room on Bill's extremely large bed, but Ralph stayed close to him. "Are you alright?" Bill asked.

Ralph laughed again, but this laugh was more an awkward, nervous one than a real one. "I… I just… I have nightmares and… the dark doesn't really help. I mean, I'm not scared or anything, really, but… anything could be in the dark."

"You really haven't forgotten anything, have you?" Bill asked the darkness and felt Ralph shift closer to him. _You seem really desperate for attention… or affection, whatever it is. _He added silently.

"No," Ralph said. His voice was even quieter, and Bill had the urge to cover the inch left between them to hug the boy. "I- every night. Nightmares of… well, most anything, really, but mostly _him."_

Bill didn't have to ask who he was talking about.

Jack Merridew.

Last Bill had heard of Jack Merridew his parents were giving excuses for his behavior. While Roger was carted up off to an asylum, Jack was taken home and was presumably at the school they'd both gone to before the island. After a six month break, of course. They needed time to make Jack 'presentable' to society again.

Bill didn't actually know if this was true – but he thought it was very, very likely.

"I wonder what happened to them," Ralph asked. "I mean, the savages."

Well, one of them was right there, Bill thought wryly, wondering if Ralph had just erased the fact that he had been a savage from his mind. He seemed to have remembered everything from the island except Bill. Apparently he thought Bill had been on Ralph's side.

That was probably a good thing – otherwise he'd be freaking out.

"I saw… I saw someone once," Ralph said. His speech was slow, halting, like he wasn't sure what he was saying. "I don't know… I think it was Roger. It was recently… a few months ago. He just… he just _glared. _I don't remember anything after that. My father says I fainted."

Bill stayed the silent supporter, nodding and fighting the urge to close that last little bit of distance between them. He could feel the heat wafting over from Ralph's body and it was taking every ounce of self-control he had to not hold him at least. There wouldn't be anything wrong with holding him… right?

Of course there would be something wrong with that. The fact that they'd kissed before dinner had just been… well, Bill hadn't been able to help himself and Ralph had been too weak to do anything but go along with it. That was all it had been. Teenage hormones. Just teenage hormones.

Teenage hormones that were being very difficult to fight right now.

Oh shit. Shit, Ralph was crying now. He wasn't making a big deal of it, but he was sniffling, and he hadn't had a cold or anything. Bill had no idea what he was doing – laying nearly naked in a bed with another boy who he'd tried to kill five years earlier, said boy crying and fighting his urges to just hug him. Gain his trust – not that he didn't already have it; Bill wasn't quite sure why Ralph was so trusting all of a sudden – and eventually fall in love-

Whoa there. No falling in love with other boys for Bill. That was just… well, it was against the Bible, wasn't it? Bill had never been _particularly_ religious, but… he was pretty sure that boys liking boys was pretty… wrong. At least, that's what had been pounded into his head by teachers and parents.

Oh God, what were his parents going to think? Oh God, oh God, oh God.

And Ralph had closed the distance himself, burying his face in Bill's bare chest. Bill was really having trouble controlling his hormones. He allowed himself to wrap his arms around Ralph. This would be enough, this would be enough, _he couldn't just molest Ralph while he was vulnerable, dammit…_

With thoughts of his teenage hormones still bouncing around in his head, Bill fell asleep.

* * *

**It feels kind of good to just be writing in one POV for a fic. That never happens for me. It's weird. And also nice. **

**Bill/Ralph is love.**


	3. Chapter Three: Bill

They woke up curled around each other, Ralph pressing himself into Bill and Bill inwardly freaking out. Thankfully, it was Cecelia that came in to jump on the bed to wake them up. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Bill, wake up your boy-"

"Shut it!" Bill snapped, sitting up and glaring. Cecelia shrieked with laughter and sprinted out of the room. She ran back a few moments later, peeking around the corner.

"Mom and Dad are gonna be gone for the next few days, remember, so you hafta take me to school," she said. Bill sighed and slipped out of the bed. Ralph, who had woken up when Cecelia had started jumping on the bed, yawned.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll take you in twenty minutes," Bill said. Cecelia ran out of the room again and Bill turned to Ralph. "Feel like skipping today?"

"Okay," Ralph said. Even though Bill was fairly certain he'd been sleeping by eleven, he had huge, dark bags under his eyes. Maybe he'd woken up when Bill was still asleep – Bill was a very heavy sleeper. Even when he fell off his bed he didn't usually wake up.

"I'm going to take a shower. Cece'll tell you where some food is," Bill said, grinning at Ralph and heading for the bathroom. He took a quick shower – in and out in five minutes, they'd slept in a bit and he'd probably have to grab some toast for the road for breakfast, unless he took Ralph out for breakfast.

He turned slightly red at the thought and got dressed. When he got downstairs, Ralph was gone. "Where's Ralph?" Bill asked Cecelia, feeling a stab of horror at the thought that maybe, Ralph had remembered that Bill had actually been one of the ones to chase him down and try to kill him.

"He went to go get some clothes," Cecelia informed him. Bill nodded and decided to just grab an apple instead of going through the whole 'toast' issue, because, honestly, he was too lazy for toast.

A few minutes later, Ralph was back, fully dressed. Bill grinned at him. "If you wanna just stay here while I take Cecelia to school, you can."

"No," Ralph shook his head. "I told my father that I was going to school with you."

"Okay," Bill said, nodding. "We can just show up there and then you can have a panic attack or something – 'too nervous' to go to school?'"

Ralph agreed – he agreed to things a bit too easily, Bill thought, but all the easier for him – and they took Cecelia to school. Bill could drive, so they didn't freeze to death on the way there.

Bill's school was a public one – a chaotic, large public school that, even if Ralph wasn't planning to get overwhelmed, he probably would anyway. Bill grinned a little as he parked the car and got out. "Coming?" he asked Ralph, who looked like he was having an honest-to-god panic attack.

Ralph swallowed. "Y-yeah. Oh, and I need to… I need to tell you something."

"Hm?" Bill asked, leaning back into the car. Ralph waved him away. Bill rolled his eyes and went back to waiting for Ralph to get out.

"Can we not and say we did?" Ralph asked. Bill shrugged and got back in the car.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Why not? We were planning on skipping anyway."

"Thanks." Ralph's voice was barely a whisper, but Bill smiled anyway and restarted the car.

"So," Bill said. "Where would you like to go?"

* * *

They ended up heading to a park that was just a little bit away from their houses. The two sat down next to each other on a park bench, not as close as Bill would like, of course, but closer than they would if it was just a casual thing.

The park was deserted, and this unnerved Bill. He glanced around, hoping that some mother with her baby would walk past, but they didn't. There wasn't even anyone in sight. He decided to talk to fill the silence.

"So, what did you need to tell me?" Bill asked. He wanted to touch Ralph, and these thoughts of touching Ralph weren't completely innocent either. He wanted to touch his face, to touch his chest, to touch his… well, it's kind of obvious where he was heading with this.

Ralph shifted. He seemed uncomfortable. Bill waited a few more minutes, but he was impatient. He couldn't stand this 'waiting' thing.

"Spit it out, Ralph," Bill said, reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair away from Ralph's face. It was like an electric shock went in-between them, and Bill jerked his hand away. "Sorry."

Ralph shook his head – Bill wasn't sure why; to clear it, perhaps, or to stop him from apologizing. "My father is in the Navy," he said. He spoke slowly, carefully, like he wanted to make sure that he was saying everything right. "And he's going to be gone a lot. And he was wondering if… if you could stay with me at the house because I…"

"Yeah, sure!" Bill said, grinning. Ralph looked relieved. Bill was a bit curious as to what the 'because I…' would have resulted in, but Ralph was looking incredibly uncomfortable and he didn't want to pry. "When?"

"Well, he left today," Ralph said, turning a bit pinkish.

"Today? But you just moved in," Bill said. Ralph shrugged.

"I don't know why he didn't want to stay for at least a little bit," he said. "But he's gone and… I think he called your parents last night. He said that he'd gotten things sorted out. He even said that he'd pay you if you wanted."

"Pay me? What for?" Bill asked. "I like being around you. Besides, all alone in a house with no adults? Think of the fun we could have."

He winked and, thankfully, Ralph didn't totally freak out. He just turned a little red, and Bill grinned. Yes, this would work. They could go to school on Monday, and have the weekend all to themselves –

Cecelia.

"Oh shit," Bill muttered. Ralph glanced over at him.

"What?" he asked.

"My parents are going to be gone for the next few days," he said. "We've got to take care of Cecelia."

"She can come over, too," Ralph said, shrugging. Bill, feeling a bit of courage, scooted closer to Ralph and put an arm around his shoulders. He leaned in close to whisper in Ralph's ear.

"But then we can't have _fun_."

Ralph turned bright red.

* * *

**I have a feeling that, in a few chapters, this is going to turn into my first m-rated fanfiction. That is quite possible. **

**Especially when some **_**other**_** characters show up.**


	4. Chapter Four: Maurice

_Six months earlier_

A dark figure exited his house at eleven, thankful for the storm a few days earlier that had put out the streetlights. He half-ran, half-walked the few miles to the asylum. His father's keys jingled annoyingly in his pocket and he put his hand on them to silence them. One of the night workers knew he was coming, of course – he was going to tell where Roger was for some money.

To be honest, this dark figure would be fine with leaving Roger in the asylum if he hadn't heard what went on in them a few days earlier.

"_So, Maurice, are you going to do what your father does?"_

_Maurice looked up from his dinner and grinned at the woman who was currently taking his father's attention. He wasn't a fan of her – he wasn't a fan of any of the women that his father kept company with – but he had a reputation of the director of the asylum's happy, cheerful son and he would keep that up, if only for his own good. "Probably," he said. "There's nothing else I'm interested in."_

_There was a truth in the lies he told people. He was interested in people who were… mentally unstable, so to speak. Insane. It was one of the reasons he'd liked Roger so much. Even when they were going to school, there was something… off about him. Maurice had tried to figure out what, exactly, was the thing that was wrong with Roger, but he hadn't managed it before they were rescued. _

"_What kind of things are they doing to help them nowadays?" the woman asked, directing her attention to Maurice's father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a perpetually uninterested expression and dark, thinning hair._

"_Well, there is the electroshock therapy, of course," his father said. "And the frontal lobe surgery, but we don't do that for all of them. Other asylums have begun to move from these techniques, but we believe in sticking with the old ways."_

Maurice hadn't wanted that to happen to Roger anymore – he'd been in Maurice's father's asylum for nearly five years, ever since they'd gotten back from the island. Most everyone had been able to go back to normal lives, Maurice figured. He had. He was fifteen years old now, he was going to school back at his old school – the only other boys from the island he recognized there were Robert and Henry, not even Jack went there anymore, and he had a girlfriend. Sort of.

Life was pretty nice.

But now he was breaking into an asylum at nearly midnight to rescue one of their more insane patients. Roger Dressler was in there because he was insane. He'd murdered two little children, oh he must be insane, _too, _we must lock _him_ up.

Nobody had mentioned that Jack had been the chief, or that everyone had participated in killing Simon.

There it was – there was the asylum. Maurice wriggled under the fence, thankful for the recent growth spurt he'd had that had shot him up four inches and, as a result, made him a bit thinner. The bottom of the fence still caught on his shirt, however, and he wasted a few minutes getting himself untangled. The night attendant he would talk to was waiting by the south window – the south wing was completely empty, due to… well, due to something-or-other, Maurice sometimes zoned out his father while he was talking.

Maurice practically rolled to the window, partly because to stay a bit more unseen and partly because, well, it was fun! As soon as he ran into the side of the building he slowly raised himself to his knees and tapped on the window a few times. It was opened and Maurice crawled through. He handed the man a handful of money and the man pointed him in the direction of Roger.

Roger, apparently, was in a solitary confinement place. While most of the 'patients' were in large rooms that housed up to sixty people, Roger was by himself. Possibly in a straightjacket, but that was just Maurice's speculation.

He peered into the small windows at the top of each solitary confinement door. Nobody that looked like Roger.

Aha! There – a small, slumped figure. It looked dark-haired, but with the low light, Maurice couldn't be sure. He'd have to go in and check.

He looked up to see the number of the room, then fumbled with the keys until he found the right one. The lock jammed and Maurice found a slight flash of panic – what if someone came past while he was here, pressed against the door, trying to get it open.

But then the lock gave and Maurice opened the door. It creaked, and he winced. The person inside looked up, dark eyes glinting with the faint light trickling in from the hallway.

"Roger?" Maurice asked, taking a step toward him. The person pushed himself backward, eyes narrowing and baring his teeth. He was in a straightjacket – but his lips looked badly bitten, and the top of the straightjacket was littered with tooth-marks. "Roger, it's me. Maurice. I'm going to get you out of here."

He reached for Roger – supposedly, it certainly looked like Roger – and the smaller boy _hissed _at him. Maurice withdrew his hand and glanced back at the hallway. Someone was going to come past eventually – soon, probably – and then they'd be found out. He couldn't let Roger out of the straightjacket yet because he'd probably go psycho; Maurice had to wait until they were safely at home. Maurice's bedroom was the entire basement, he had a room in the back that he'd put a mattress in, Roger could stay in there.

"Fuck it," Maurice muttered, grabbing Roger around the middle and throwing him over his shoulder. Roger twisted, hissed, and even bit him once or twice as he shut the door with his foot, shoved the keys deep into his pocket, and sprinted down the hallway. "Stop it, I'm getting you out of here."

"You really want him?" the attendant that had helped him asked. Roger growled at him. "I don't even think he's human anymore."

"Roger's never been human," Maurice said, dumping Roger out the window first, then slipping out himself. The way home was difficult; thankfully his father was gone for the next few days on a holiday. He could replace the keys and get Roger down to his new room. And then get Roger some food, because he was incredibly light. Whether that was because he just wasn't eating or he didn't get enough to eat, Maurice didn't know.

"Alright Roger," Maurice muttered, putting Roger on his mattress. Roger sat, leaned against the wall, eyes narrowed. "I'm going to take you out of the straightjacket now. But if you try to escape or hurt me, you'll go straight back in. And I'm bigger than you. Do you understand?"

Roger didn't respond. Maurice undid the straightjacket with trembling fingers, keeping an eye on Roger's eyes the whole time. They looked dead now, like he was out of 'angry alley cat' stage and into 'I don't give a fuck what happens to me' stage.

"Alright," Maurice said, mouth dry. He backed up. "I'm going to… I'm going to go get you some food. A… do you want a sandwich and milk? Or maybe some cookies and milk. You look like you need cookies. Cookies it is."

He was rambling, he knew that, but he was so damn nervous he couldn't really help it. He backed out of the room, locking the door so that Roger couldn't get out – he didn't look like he _wanted_ to get out, but you never knew – and got the food as quickly as he could. He didn't really want to leave Roger alone for too long.

He balanced the cup on the plate of cookies and opened the door. Almost as soon as he did so, Roger tackled him, the milk and cookies going flying and Maurice's back hitting the ground. Roger pinned him there, staring down at him with the 'angry alley cat' eyes back again.

"Roger," Maurice said, having to struggle to keep his voice from shaking. "Roger, let me up and go back to your room."

Roger didn't answer, and instead kept staring down at Maurice.

"Roger."

Nothing. Maurice decided to try a different tactic.

"Don't you want your cookies and milk? I'll have to get you new milk, of course, but you don't get them unless you get off of me and go back to your room. _Right now_," Maurice tried to make his voice as threatening as possible, but it didn't work. Roger just kept staring at him. His fingernails were starting to dig into Maurice's wrists. They were long; too long to not hurt. "Roger."

A thought hit him just then – what if this wasn't Roger? No, it had to be Roger. He looked like Roger, and he was perhaps a bit more psychotic than Roger had been, but… but those asylums were weird. He could've gotten incredibly catlike in there.

Maybe he should get Roger a kitten.

No, he had to focus on getting Roger back into the room. The only reason he couldn't was because he was _scared_. And he shouldn't be scared – he was twice Roger's size. No, Roger should be the scared one. Maurice pushed himself up. Roger was incredibly light.

"Now go back into your room," he told Roger, who had been moved to his lap. "Or I'll have to put you there."

Roger didn't budge, and Maurice picked him up and carried him to the room. Roger didn't try to bite him this time, and instead just stiffened. "Are you ever going to talk to me?" he asked. "Are you really Roger?"

He put Roger down on the bed and waited. After a few minutes, he sighed. "Never mind."

"Yes."

Maurice paused. He glanced back. Roger was looking at him. "W-what?"

"I am Roger," Roger said. His voice sounded like he hadn't used it to speak in a while. Maurice went back into the other room and brought back the cookie that hadn't been broken when it hit the floor. He handed it to Roger, and Roger began to eat it. Slowly, but he was eating.

Maurice smiled. This would work.

* * *

**Actually, there are going to be either two or three POVs, switching every three chapters. Eventually they'll all connect. **


	5. Chapter Five: Maurice

_3 Months Before Current Storyline_

Roger was gone.

Maurice had been out and must have forgotten to lock Roger's door, because now it was wide open and nobody was inside except the kitten that Maurice had just gotten to keep Roger company while he was at school.

"Shit," Maurice muttered. He sprinted up the stairs and exited the house, shivering a little. It was starting to get cold. Roger would probably be in his t-shirt, and he wasn't stupid, so he'd probably be inside a building. Somewhere. He couldn't have gotten far; Maurice had been gone for twenty minutes at the most.

He'd have to look around in the shops. Now that Roger had cleaned up and gained some weight, he looked just like any other teenage boy. Sure, his hair was kind of long, and sometimes he would start going psycho, but other than that, he was just a normal teenage boy, for the most part.

Maybe he was in the candy shop. Maurice could try there. And maybe he could buy some candy to perhaps draw Roger out. He ran to the candy shop, nearly getting run over three times and tripping five times. He ignored people from school that called out greetings; they didn't matter, he needed to find Roger and get him back before someone who recognized him as the escaped mental patient found him.

He made it to the candy shop and flung open the door. It was completely empty; not even a worker. Maurice grabbed a handful of hard candy, stuck it in his pocket, and ran out again. What next? Bookstore? Bookstore. Roger had spoken of wanting some books to read while Maurice was at school, maybe he was taking matters into his own hands because Maurice really didn't believe that Roger wanted to read anything.

The bookstore wasn't empty, and it was harder to search as well. Maurice ducked past people, muttering 'sorry' and nearly tripping again.

Roger wasn't here either. Maurice bit his lip and set off again, popping one of the hard candies into his mouth and sucking on it as he ran, trying to think. Maybe clothes? What would Roger want with clothes? A church?

That was just ridiculous…

But Roger probably thought that Maurice would never look there.

He was probably in the church.

Maurice changed direction quickly and, running across the road and nearly getting hit by a car again, went toward the church. There were a few people there; Maurice wasn't sure why but, then again, he never went to church. He believed in God, he supposed, he just always had better things to do. Such as look after his insane friend.

Though he hadn't gone to church in a while – apart from what they had to do at school, but Maurice mostly messed around then – he slowed down before entering the building. Yes, there was Roger. Just standing there, glaring at someone… who looked extremely like Ralph.

Shit.

The Ralph lookalike glanced up and met Roger's eyes. Ralph lookalike's eyes widened, and he crumpled to the ground. Maurice took the temporary confusion to sneak up behind Roger and grab him. "C'mon," he muttered, dragging Roger away. Roger twisted. "It's just me, it's just Maurice."

Roger kept twisting as Maurice drug him down the church steps. They nearly fell a few times, but Maurice managed to get Roger back to his room without too much trouble. Apart from the bite marks on his arms and many odd looks from classmates.

He set Roger down in his room. Roger glared at him, and Maurice took the hard candies out of his pocket and dropped them all on Roger's newly acquired desk. "I'm going to go get you some actual food," Maurice said slowly. The kitten padded out into view. "That's your new kitten."

He'd been gone for five minutes at most. Maybe ten. Yes, about ten minutes, because he'd had to work to find the bread, because he hadn't put it away last time and it was now under the sink for some reason. He'd made Roger a sandwich and filled a cup with water. Ten minutes at most.

When he got back, the first thing he saw was the kitten dead right in front of the door. Maurice bit back a shriek and put the food down on the floor. Roger was sitting crosslegged on his bed, just watching him.

The kitten wasn't just dead. It was mutilated. Its neck was broken – that's what had killed it, probably, it had been running around and annoyed Roger and he'd probably just snapped its neck. Somehow its stomach had been cut open and internal organs were strewn all over the room like Christmas decorations. Maurice closed his eyes. Alright. He would be fine. This wasn't happening.

He opened his eyes again and noticed that a pencil was stabbed into the neck, like Roger was planning on cutting off the head and putting it on the pencil but hadn't had the time. Maurice pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to stay sane.

"What's wrong?" Roger asked. He was smirking a little.

"What's wrong? Think about it!" Maurice said, his voice higher than usual. Roger just looked at him. "What's wrong with _you_?"

"I'm insane," Roger said. "Didn't you know that?"

"You need a hobby," Maurice said, trying to diffuse the tension a bit. Roger stood up and, after kicking what looked like the heart to the other side of the room (Maurice gagged at this) pulled open a desk drawer. It was full of dead bugs. Bugs that looked like they'd been tortured to death – flies, beetles, even a few of what looked like they had been moths.

"I do have a hobby," Roger said. He dumped them all on the floor and began to laugh. "You made a mistake, Maurice!"

Maurice fought the impulse to look at the cat – or any part of the cat, though it was kind of hard – and crossed the room. Wincing as he stepped on several dead bugs and what felt like part of the cat, he eventually made it to Roger.

He hugged Roger. Roger stiffened.

"What are you-"

"Shut up," Maurice muttered. "You're insane, and you scare me, but I still like you." Maurice grinned at him. "You're interesting."

* * *

**And here we go. **

**I'm debating on whether I should have a Jack POV or not. What do you think?**


	6. Chapter Six: Maurice

Maurice ran downstairs as soon as he got back from school. He'd started letting Roger roam the basement while he was at school sometimes – the only problem with this was that the basement didn't actually have a lockable door, so Maurice was forced to chain him to his door like some sort of wild animal.

But he was sort of a wild animal, only he was a person, too, most of the time. Maurice figured that he had enough things down in the basement to keep Roger busy and, besides, with the chain hooked on to his arm, he could always tell where Roger was.

And right now, he was under Maurice's bed for some reason. Maurice dropped his things on the floor and bounded over the bed, flopping down on top of it and reaching down to give the chain a yank. Roger squirmed into view. He was very dusty. "What are you doing?" Maurice asked, grinning a little. Roger shrugged.

"Looking around. Unlock me."

Maurice thought about it and decided that he could probably let Roger have totally free reign while he was there, because he was still bigger than Roger and could lock him up again if he needed to. So, after digging around frantically for the key, he unlocked Roger. He'd put the key in his shoe, for some reason. Well, at least he would never lose it if it was in his shoe.

"So, Roger, what do you want to do today?" Maurice asked. Roger shrugged and crawled up to sit beside Maurice on the bed.

Someone knocked on the door. Maurice shoved Roger off of the bed and jumped off himself, grabbing Roger by the hand and dragging him to his room. "What are you-"

"Shut up! You have to get in there," Maurice said. Roger sighed and complied, letting Maurice shove him into his room and lock the door. "Coming!"

Unlike the previous times that someone had knocked at the door while Roger was out, it wasn't just someone looking for his father. It was his girlfriend – well, he hadn't really done much more than smile at her during chance meetings for the past few months, so maybe not girlfriend anymore – Gwendolyn. "Oh! Hello!" Maurice said, grinning.

"Can we talk?" she asked. Maurice glanced at the basement door nervously, then nodded.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

She shivered. Oh, it was a little cold, wasn't it? He should probably invite her in… but he didn't want her here that long, he had to deal with Roger. But common courtesy…

"Well… I wanted to know…" she shifted from foot to foot, looking awkward. "If you still like me. We haven't gone out in forever, and…"

"I'm sorry," Maurice said. "I've just been busy." _With a psychotic insane asylum escapee._

"Well…" Gwendolyn trailed off, then jumped when a loud _crash_! was heard from the basement.

"Talk to you later!" Maurice said, slamming the door, locking it for good measure, and heading back down to Roger. "Damn it Roger!"

He opened Roger's door to come face-to-face with a desk. Roger lowered the desk, and Maurice glanced at the door. Yep. Roger had tried breaking down the door with the desk. "You could be patient, you know," Maurice said. Roger put the desk back and shook his head. "What do you need?"

"Your father is going to be gone for the next few days, correct?" Roger asked. Maurice nodded.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Can I sleep with you?"

* * *

Maurice finished homework at around eleven-thirty. Roger had been watching him, occasionally making suggestions and correcting his math. Maurice was generally quite good with math, but he was distracted. If he wouldn't have been distracted, he would've realized that Roger was, in fact, correcting him incorrectly, and his original answers were correct.

But math homework didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, did it?

As soon as Maurice shut off the lights and got into bed, Roger spoke.

"I want to kill them."

"Uh," Maurice said, forcing a grin even though he knew Roger wouldn't be able to see it in the lack of light. "Who?"

"Oh, all of them," Roger said. Maurice could almost _hear _him smirk. "Ralph, mostly. And the others. Jack-"

"I thought you liked Jack?" Maurice interrupted. "I mean, you always did what he told you to."

"I did like Jack," Roger replied. "And then we got back here and he didn't even get in trouble. Just because I'm…" He trailed off, and Maurice shifted, closing the rest of the space between them.

"Easier to blame?" he offered.

"Yes," Roger said. "It doesn't mean that everyone else should just go home free just because I'm the most obviously insane. I mean, all of us came away insane."

"I don't think I'm insane," Maurice said. "I mean-"

Roger laughed. It was that insane laugh again – of course, did Roger have any other laugh? – the high-pitched, too loud to sound like Roger, laugh. "Maurice. Think about your choices. Think about this. Nobody who wasn't seriously fucked up would break _me_ out of an asylum. For everyone's health, I should be locked up. I suppose I am; you're doing a good enough job for being you. But still. One day you're going to end up like that kitten."

"No, Roger," Maurice said, wrapping his arms around Roger and pulling him even close, if that was possible. He was a bit scared – he hoped that the chill in the room would disguise his shivering as from the cold, not what Roger was making him feel – but that didn't matter. "I… I'll be fine. I tru-"

"Don't say you trust me, because you shouldn't," Roger said. "It's stupid. I'm not going to push you away, because, well… why would I? But don't fucking trust me. I'm going to snap and kill you one day. Be ready for it."

Maurice sighed. "I don't think you will."

"Maurice, one day you're going to die and it's going to be all my fau-"

Maurice cut him off by kissing him, tightening his grip on the smaller boy and keeping the two of them pressed together. After the initial shock of the kiss, Roger put his hands on Maurice's chest as if to push him away, but he didn't. Maurice broke the kiss if only to breathe, and Roger's hands moved from Maurice's chest to his face, tracing his nose and mouth and eyes. "You know how easily I could hurt you right now? You're too fucking trusting."

"Shut up," Maurice said. He brushed Roger's hair away from his face – not so that he could see, just to keep his hands busy – and moved his face closer to the other boy's. "You talk too much."

"I don't talk very – mmph!"

Maurice had kissed him again. There was again the initial shock, and this time Roger tangled his hands in Maurice's hair, pulling at it and messing with it. "Too much talking," Maurice said. "Not enough of the fun stuff."

It seemed that Roger was back to his completely insane, angry alley cat stage, because his only answer was a growl and a bite on Maurice's jaw. A shiver went up Maurice's spine and he gripped Roger's face tighter. Roger wriggled free and nearly ripped Maurice's shirt from his body, letting it get lost in the blankets.

"Yours too, then," Maurice said, but Roger beat him to it, taking off the shirt and throwing it aside, just a minor inconvenience.

"Maurice!"

Hold on, that wasn't Roger. That sounded like… like his father.

"Under the bed!" Maurice hissed, shoving Roger away from him and off of the bed. Roger rolled out of sight, and Maurice pulled the blankets tightly around him as his father walked down the stairs. "Hi!"

"Did I wake you up?" his father asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Maurice shrugged.

"Kind of. I mean, I wasn't all the way asleep," he lied. "But close."

"Oh. I'll let you get back to sleep, then. Just wanted to tell you that the conference has been cut short and I'll be home," his father said. Maurice swallowed and nodded.

"Great."

* * *

**And here we go. :)**

**Next chapter we begin Jack's POV.  
**


	7. Chapter Seven: Jack

_I am Jack Laurence Merridew. I am normal. I am an intelligent eighteen year old boy. I will be a productive member of society. I am normal._

Jack nodded to himself in the mirror and noticed with some irritation that his hair was getting a little long again. It wasn't long by most standards, but he'd tried to keep it as short as possible ever since _that incident. _The one _that didn't impact him at all, _because _it had happened five years ago _and _hanging onto it was pointless and only HELD HIM BACK._

He couldn't bear to sing anymore, and his voice had changed so that he couldn't sing well enough anyway. Singing was not an option anymore _like it would be anyway singing was too much like the incident because choir boys aren't so innocent are they remember Roger remember Maurice remember Bill but mostly Roger Roger Roger and his craziness, you were scared of him Jack, don't say you weren't you're happy he was locked up –_

No. No, he wouldn't think about that. He would not think about Roger. He would go downstairs and have breakfast and go to school, to _public _school so that his parents could keep an eye on him, apparently it wasn't safe for him to leave the house _five years later_.

Jack wasn't quite sure he'd want to go back to his old school, anyway. He didn't know how many of them still went there; Maurice, perhaps? Bill? Anyone was a possibility. Anyone except Roger, because _he'd been locked up, and in Maurice's father's asylum oh wasn't that funny wasn't Maurice weirdly obsessed with Roger?_

Jack shook his head free of those thoughts and grabbed a spare book before he headed downstairs. He liked to read to stop himself from thinking so much. He was currently powering his way through the Lord of the Rings trilogy – it was long and an entirely new world, something that Jack definitely needed. He was on the last one, however; he'd need to head to the bookstore after school to pick up a new book. It was going to be hard to top Lord of the Rings.

He ate quickly, wanting to be able to walk slowly to school. It was getting chilly; November was turning into December and it was beginning to feel like it. Jack watched some of the last leaves that had previously been clinging to tree branches for dear life drift down to earth. He smiled a little at this but didn't know why. He liked winter, especially when there was just a light dusting of snow on the ground, enough so that he couldn't see the ground but not too much to be annoying.

School passed by quickly, and then Jack was in his bookstore, browsing the shelves for something that looked to be good. He was trying to decide between two books when he heard something that severely disturbed him.

"-escaped, yes," someone said. Jack was listening through the bookshelf. He could've sworn he'd heard Roger's name. Roger Joseph Dressler, _but no he's locked up he'll never get out who would break him out except maybe Maurice but not even Maurice would be that stupid don't be silly Jack Roger's safely locked up he's locked up he'll never ever get out don't you go thinking he will and freak out you're in a BOOKSTORE people will SEE you DON'T DON'T DON'T YOU'LL BE OKAY they're still talking better pay attention._

"What's the poor kid's name again?" another voice asked. This one belonged to a man – it was deeper, gruffer. "Robert, or something like that?"

"No, no Roger Dressler," the first voice said. "I knew him in school. Creepy kid."

"And he got out of the asylum he was put into," the man said. "I find that a bit hard to believe."

"Believe it," a new voice said. There was rustling, like paper was being passed from person to person. "Escaped about six months ago. There was a whole page in the paper, and just now more papers are getting ahold of the story. The director of the asylum is trying to keep details from the public, but that's not right."

Jack put the books down and hurriedly left the store. He didn't want to hear anymore, _no, _he did _not want to hear more, _it had to be a different Roger _Roger was a fairly common name just because Roger and Dressler and asylum didn't mean it was HIS Roger nope not the Roger from the incident nope he was locked up locked up and he'd never ever ever get out nope never._

He needed something to eat. Jack quick stopped in at a diner and got something quickly, not paying attention to what he was ordering, just needing something to keep his mind off of this new predicament. Once his food came, he sat down in a corner and took out his sketchbook/journal.

(Jack tried to explore all creative mediums.)

Today was a writing day, complete with scribblings in the margins.

_He's out. They said he's out and I don't want to believe them but who else could it be? It has to be him. I'm scared… but he wouldn't come after me. No, I was close to him, I think. As close as one could be to someone like Roger. _

_Apart from Maurice._

Satisfied with what he'd written and not particularly wanting to completely break down in a public place, Jack finished his food and exited the premises. He went home straight away – his parents wouldn't be back until late tonight; it was Friday, their date night. Jack had finally managed to convince them that he could handle staying home alone one night out of the week. It had taken him a few years, but legally he could move out.

Not that he wanted to. He didn't know if he could handle the pressures of living on his own just yet. He still had small breakdowns every once in a while; what if someone wasn't there when he was freaking out? He didn't know if he could handle that.

He didn't know if he could handle anything anymore.

* * *

**And there's our first Jack POV. What do you guys think of it? Jack isn't a POV I write often, unlike Bill and Maurice.**


	8. Chapter Eight: Jack

When Jack woke up on Saturday, he was okay until he _remembered_. Remembering was bad, life would be so much better if he could start off each day with a clean slate, _yes Jack wouldn't that be nice. _But it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever remembered, _no, _a certain event on the island took that place.

But it was still a bad thing to remember.

Roger had gotten out of the asylum. Jack didn't know why, or how, or _what the fuck Roger was planning to do you're scared Jack don't you dare say you aren't Roger terrifies you good reason too he's psychotic and he's going to kill you he's going to fucking KILL you_-

No. No, he would be fine. Chances were Roger would be caught in no time _then why haven't they caught him yet he's been out for six months he's insane how can he be hiding this well, _and even if he was, why would he come after Jack? If he got word that someone else had been killed, well, then he could worry. But right now he really had no reason _apart from the fact that a psycho was on the loose HE'S ON THE LOOSE _to be afraid. It was just his mind acting up again. He would be perfectly fine.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do today. Perhaps he could take a walk? He generally liked to stay inside, but lately he'd been restless. He wasn't sure he wanted to stay inside all of the time, even though it would be safer _you're taking all the safe routes now you did before the island and you are after the island what is your brief period of being a normal human gone? _

He hadn't been normal on the island, though. He'd been… savage. Crazy. Obsessive. A fucking screw-up, that was all he was. He'd been on such a good track, perfect grades and perfect voice and perfect _everything, _but then the island had happened _and nothing would be perfect again he'd be here until he died._

Unless…

Unless he left.

Yes, that would work. He would leave this place – pack a bag with money and a change of clothes and maybe some food for the road – and run. Run to… wherever. Maybe he could join Roger. Maybe he could… make peace _don't be silly Jack you can't make peace with Roger he'll kill you _with him. Or he could find someone else; Bill or Robert or even that kid who couldn't remember his phone number. Any of them would work! He could start a new life, and maybe this time, _this time, _he would be able to live it right.

Before packing his bag, however, he needed to make sure that nobody else was home. He didn't know if he could handle an interrogation right now. Questions… questions weren't good. He'd used to love sharing whatever he was doing, he'd often tell people whether they wanted to know or not, but after the island _and the questions all the questions what happened Jack what happened we're not going to hurt you we just want to know what happened don't worry about betraying Roger Ralph already told us that he was crazy, we just want more details Ralph is too delicate to give us how did Simon die how did Christopher die who's Christopher you mean didn't even know his NAME what kind of things WENT ON on that island Jack TELL WHAT HAPPENED SAY WHAT HAPPENED JACK REMEMBER _

_REMEMBER_

_REMEMBER_

Jack broke away from his thoughts and stumbled toward his bed, collapsing facedown onto it. He closed his eyes and, clenching his fists, tried to calm down. He needed to calm down. He couldn't think of that. He just needed to see if anyone was here. If nobody was here, it would be easier to leave, that was all. There was absolutely nothing else going on with that sort of thing.

After a few more minutes of forcing himself to stay calm, Jack stood up, hugging himself. He walked as quietly as he could down the stairs – they were old, they creaked, but if you stayed on the edges with most of your weight on the railing you could make it down quietly, you just had to be careful to not put too much weight on the railing or they _would _break and you _would _fall – so that if there was someone, he could just sneak back upstairs, no questions asked.

There was nobody downstairs.

Thank God.

Jack went back upstairs, not taking as many precautions this time. He knew that the house was empty, he would be fine.

He packed quickly, and changed his clothes while he was at it to something warmer and more suited to running away. He ignored the voice at the back of his mind telling him that _what he was doing was stupid _and _he was going to get himself killed _and _fuck Jack LISTEN TO ME. _

"I should eat before I leave," Jack muttered under his breath _at least you're doing one thing right. _He left his bag upstairs, just in case someone came home while he was eating and asked what he was doing. He didn't want to be caught – technically, he was eighteen and could leave, but he just _knew _that they'd force him to stay because _oh no Jack you're not mentally stable enough to leave _and _Jack are you really sure that this is the best idea Jack think about it for a few minutes and you'll realize that this isn't the smart thing to do we can talk it out we can talk it out and how about you skip school on Monday won't that be nice. _

He ate quickly, not being very hungry so not eating very much. He should probably eat more, but ever since the island he hadn't had much an appetite for food, pig or certain fruits especially. But he ate, if only to keep up appearances. He'd gotten skinny since the island, but he wore clothes that hid it.

After finishing eating, he got his bag and left the house.

* * *

**And next chapter Jack will run into either Percival or Robert. I've already asked who it should be on Tumblr, but if you would like to vote on who he'll run into, feel free to do so! :) In case you're wondering, Percival is currently up by one.**

**Anyway, I hope that you liked this chapter! **


	9. Chapter Nine: Jack

It was cold.

Jack had been walking for hours now. He'd left right around ten A.M., and now he was hungry and cold and not feeling good. He really regretted _I told you you'd regret it you're so STUPID _leaving the comfort of his home now, but he didn't think he could go back now. No, he'd left, and he would stick with it.

Not looking where he was walking, he ran into someone about half a foot shorter than him. Jack simply stumbled back a few steps, but the kid fell completely to the ground. Jack was ready to run but _no Jack wait this kid looks familiar. _

The kid looked like he was going to cry. He was one of the ugliest kids Jack had ever seen – small and skinny and mouse-colored. His face had an odd, pinched look and his eyes were too small, his cheeks a little hollow-looking. And what the hell was he doing now?

"Percival Wymes Madison!" he hollered, curling up into a tight ball. Jack blinked. Percival… Wymes… Madison. The telephone kid.

Great, he was still as crazy as ever _you're one to talk you're far from sane this kid's just scared he was obviously affected greatly by that damn island he was just six when the plane crashed do you expect him to be sane do you really._

The kid would help him, Jack decided. He reached out his hand, and the kid, who had stopped rolling around on the sidewalk, shrunk from it. "Calm down," Jack snapped, and Percival backed up a bit. He forced his voice to stay calm. "I'm not going to hurt you."

With trembling fingers, Percival took Jack's hand. Jack pulled him up, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that was telling him to _take him with you you need another one you can't make it by yourself _ or _at least ask if you can STAY WITH HIM TONIGHT jesus christ jack you've got to stay somewhere._

Well, maybe the second suggestion made a bit of sense.

"T-thank you," Percival said, effectively snapping Jack out of his thoughts. "I mean, for helping me up and not just rushing on."

"No problem," Jack said curtly. He wasn't sure how to breach the subject of him staying with the kid, but he needed to do it before Percival left. "Hey, do you know where I could stay for the night?"

Percival looked up at him through those tiny, black eyes. "I s'pose you could stay with me, if my mum will allow it. Dad's been gone for forever, and it's just me'n'mum now. She won't mind, I don't think."

Jack smirked. "Great," he said.

* * *

Percival's mum was a small, tired-looking woman who looked blankly at Jack for a few moments, then turned back to the television. Percival hugged her quickly, then took Jack's hand and led him to what Jack supposed was the kitchen. The walls were covered in large, colorful drawings that nobody seemed to have had the time or energy to clean off _such a shock he lives in a dump you can't stay HERE Jack he's below you he's so below you you need a better place a nice house with CLEAN walls and CLEAN floors and parents who CARE but aren't too overbearing like yours too bad you didn't run into Maurice or Bill both of them were fairly well off weren't they and Bill's family was even like a family, they didn't even have to pretend to like each other-_

"Are you okay?" Percival asked, and Jack tore his eyes away from the walls and focused them on Percival. He looked concerned. His hand was in what looked like a cookie jar. "Sorry we don't have very much, but I think we have some cookies."

After a bit more of Percival rummaging and Jack sitting at the table and staring at his hands – there was nothing that he had to think about his hands, they were perfectly pale and freckled and short-nailed – they both had two cookies, a glass of water, and a half of a bagel with a thin layer of butter on it spread out in front of them. Percival ate quickly, as if it were a race, while Jack picked at his bagel and took sips of his water often. He was hungry, but he just… he just didn't feel right eating this. After a bit of consideration, he pushed both of his cookies over to Percival.

"What? Don't you want them?" Percival asked, hesitant to grab them. Jack shook his head and Percival managed to eat them in thirty seconds flat.

Jack could feel the younger boy watching him as he ate. He didn't know why. He didn't like it. He hadn't liked people looking at him since the island _but before the island you'd been fine with it, hadn't you you loved it when people watched you you wanted people to watch and stare and applaud every move you ever fucking made you LIVED for attention Jack and now you hate it you say bullshit Jack bullshit you just don't want someone realizing that there's something WRONG with you._

Jack ate the rest of his bagel a bit savagely – _bad word Jack bad word – _ripping it apart with his teeth and washing it down with the rest of his water. Percival didn't take any notice of it; of course, he'd eaten his food the exact same way.

"I can show you to where you'll sleep, if you want," Percival asked. Jack nodded, and Percival jumped up from his chair and walked out of the room. Jack followed, looking nervously around at the cramped, dirty, colored-up rooms.

Eventually, they made it to a small room at the back of the house. "Sorry we don't have anything more," Percival said. He pulled one of the blankets and one of the pillows off of the bed. "You can have the bed, if you want. I used to sleep on the floor all the time."

"Uh…" Jack looked around at Percival's room, a little shocked at how _small_ it was. _Not everyone's as rich as you Jack sometimes people have less money and that's OK and we shouldn't judge them for it now let him have the damn bed you can stand to sleep on the floor for once Jack don't be a prick. _"No, that's okay. You can…"

Percival shook his head vehemently. "No, you're the guest," he said. It was just then that Jack realized that he hadn't actually told Percival who he was. "Anyway, Jack-"

"How do you know my name?" Jack asked, grabbing onto Percival's shoulder. Percival shrunk away.

"I-I-I – I just figured," Percival said. "You look like him. And you… you walk like he did. Except you're much quieter."

"You didn't mind the island, did you?" Jack asked. Percival shrugged.

"I don't 'member much," he mumbled. "I was little."

"Right," Jack said. Percival nodded.

"You take the bed."

* * *

**And here we go. Next chapter we get back into Bill's POV, so that should be fun, right? :D**


	10. Chapter Ten: Bill

Bill rolled over, checking the time on the clock. Eight-thirty. Not bad, especially for a Sunday. Ralph was already up; at least, he wasn't in the bed anymore. Bill and Ralph slept in the same bed – it helped with Ralph's nightmares and, well, Bill just liked sleeping in the same bed as Ralph.

Well, he should probably head to the kitchen. He was supposed to make breakfast this morning, and if he didn't hurry up, Ralph would be sitting down there with the breakfast all made, just watching him. Or he'd be curled up in some corner, terrified by a shadow.

Hopefully Ralph wasn't that hungry this morning, because Bill really wasn't very good at making… well, anything. Hopefully some toast would do? Providing he didn't burn it, of course; that had happened before. Many times before. Bill was just getting used to this whole 'living just with a slightly neurotic teenager that he was inexplicably attracted to' thing. Ralph's father had left plenty of money, and he sent more in the mail each week; some of it Bill's pay and the rest of it food money.

"Bill? Are you up yet?"

"Yeah, I'm coming!" Bill yelled back, hurriedly putting on a pair of pants. He debated putting a shirt on, but decided against it. Who knew, Ralph could see Bill's unclothed torso and be overcome madly with lust and then they'd end up making out and Bill was definitely open to that.

He'd gotten over his previous trepidations about liking a boy for the most part. Now really the only thing that held him back was how fragile Ralph seemed. He didn't want to send the kid to an asylum. That's where Roger had ended up (and escaped, Bill had heard, but he wasn't about to tell Ralph that, because Ralph was really only held together by the fact that he thought that Roger was safely locked up), and Bill had heard that they weren't very nice.

Bill bounded down the stairs. Yep. Ralph was making food. He'd managed to make eggs without burning them, a feat that was too much for Bill. "Huh," Bill said. "I never knew you could cook."

Ralph glanced up at Bill and grinned. He'd gotten a lot more comfortable around Bill, it seemed – Bill wasn't looking forward to Ralph finding out that he had actually been one of the savages. If he ever did, of course; there was always the chance that Ralph would never find out. Ever. Bill was hoping that that was what would happen. He had a feeling that Ralph wouldn't be so keen on Bill sleeping in his bed if that was the case.

Bill had the urge to go over to Ralph and kiss him. He'd been feeling like this for… well, a really long time, actually, but he'd always fought it back. Today, though… they'd been living in the same house for over a week, all alone. And the first night they'd seen each other, they'd kissed. And it had been great! But nothing else had happened.

Nothing else at all.

Bill felt like he needed to fix this.

So, after Ralph set the eggs down on the table – Bill really didn't want to risk the chance of them burning and him not getting a good breakfast – Bill grabbed him around the waist and kissed him. Ralph made a small noise of surprise, but other than that, didn't do anything. Bill opened one eye. Ralph was staring up at him, startled, and Bill flushed red. He let go of Ralph and broke the kiss, backing away.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I… I have to go."

He took off, slipping on his shoes and grabbing the shirt he'd worn yesterday, putting it on as he walked down the street. It was cold; it was _freezing, _actually, but he walked quickly, and it wasn't that bad.

He stopped just outside of a shop and, freezing cold, decided to head inside. It was fancy inside – a bit too fancy for Bill to feel comfortable in. He felt his pocket and noticed that he did have his pocket. Good. Maybe he could buy something. Maybe that would make him feel better. Maybe he could find something that would make him feel less self-conscious…

Like that pair of sunglasses over there.

Bill walked quickly, grabbing the sunglasses off of the rack and trying them on. He stared at himself in the mirror. Yeah. That would work.

They were kind of expensive, he realized as he checked out the price tag, but nothing he couldn't afford with the insane amount Ralph's dad paid him.

Seven minutes later, Bill walked out of the shop with the sunglasses on his face. He looked… well, cool. Very cool. And while Bill had always been a pretty cool guy, the sunglasses cemented the fact. Now, when people looked at him, they'd think 'oh, hey, who's that cool guy?' instead of 'oh, look, it's just another tall, nicely-muscled blond kid.'

Or they'd think that he was a delinquent looking for some windows to smash, but, hey. Why couldn't he be a delinquent?

When he got back to the house, Ralph was waiting by the door. "I'm sorry," was the first thing out of the other blond's mouth. The second was, "Where did you get those?"

Bill, suddenly self-conscious and grateful for his new sunglasses, crossed his arms. "I bought them. I like them. They're cool."

Ralph grinned a little. It was a little harder to see things with the sunglasses on inside, but his eyes would adjust, and soon he'd be used to the dimmer light. "What a cool guy," Ralph muttered. "Never thought such a cool guy would like me."

Bill turned slightly pink. "So, um," he said. "How did you feel about that?"

"The kissing thing?" Ralph asked. "I… well, I liked it. I guess."

"You guess?"

"No, no, I did. I liked it. You're good at that sort of thing," Ralph amended. Bill smirked.

"Would you be opposed to doing it again?"

Ralph shook his head, turning slightly pink. Bill grinned and tugged Ralph toward him by his waist, dipping down to kiss him.

"Wait," Ralph said. Bill paused. "I can't do this if half of your face is covered up."

"Alright," Bill said, taking off his sunglasses and putting them on the nearest surface. "Now are we good?"

"Yeah," Ralph said, a little breathless. "But shouldn't we go somewhere that's better… for this sort of thing?"

"Right," Bill said, grabbing Ralph and throwing him over his shoulder. He was heavier than he looked, but still light enough for Bill to carry into the bedroom. "Here we go."

He lowered Ralph gently, not wanting to hurt him. Ralph's face was bright red – whether it was from the blood rushing to his head or embarrassment, Bill didn't know. But what he did know was that he needed to get his shoes and shirt off right away.

He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and ended up popping two of the buttons off, discarding the shirt and grabbing Ralph again to kiss him. Ralph kissed him back, burying his hands in Bill's hair. Bill moved his hands down to Ralph's chest, intending to get rid of Ralph's shirt, too. One of Ralph's hands slipped from Bill's head and onto his bare back, clenching and unclenching, scratching his back a little.

Bill eventually got Ralph's shirt off and, backing away a little to get the shirt over Ralph's head, tossed it to the dark corners of Ralph's room. Ralph was gaining weight again; that was good, he wasn't just skin-and-bones like when Bill had first seen him again. He was beginning to fill out; Bill could still see his ribs but couldn't count each one.

Ralph pulled him down to kiss him again and Bill, not expecting this, slipped and then their chests were pressed together, lips pressed together, Ralph's eyes closed but Bill's open. Bill broke the kiss and Ralph opened his eyes to give Bill a questioning gaze. Bill met Ralph's gaze with what he hoped was a reassuring look, then began to kiss Ralph's neck, nipping a little at his collar bone and grinning against his skin when Ralph's back arched and he let out a soft moan. Ralph's hands went back to Bill's back, his fingernail's digging into the soft skin. Bill's hands went to Ralph's sides, his fingers tracing over Ralph's ribs.

Bill's mouth moved down to Ralph's nipple, sucking on it and enjoying the feeling of Ralph pressing up against him.

And then Ralph's fingernail's dug into Bill's back with a renewed energy. Bill jerked his head up, staring Ralph straight in the eyes.

"Sorry," Ralph said. Bill rolled over so that he was lying beside Ralph and shrugged.

"S'okay," he said.

* * *

**this chapter involved copious amounts of hand sanitizer**


	11. Chapter Eleven: Bill

Bill waited for Ralph outside of Ralph's last class. Bill's last class was taught by a teacher who really didn't care and, as a result, they were usually let out five or so minutes early.

Ralph eventually showed up, trailing the rest of the pack of students that had rushed out the door as soon as they were dismissed. Ralph's eyes lit up as soon as he saw Bill, and Bill grinned, adjusting his sunglasses. Some of the more strict teachers had made him take off the sunglasses during classes, but for the most part, he'd kept up his cool kid façade.

Well, it wasn't really a façade. He was cool.

"What do you wanna do today?" Bill asked. Ralph shrugged.

"I don't care."

"We're running out of food… but we could always go buy more groceries tomorrow," Bill said. He thought for a little bit, and then remembered that his parents had wanted them to come over for dinner. "Oh, wait. We've gotta go to my house for dinner tonight. I promised my parents."

"Okay," Ralph said. "When's that?"

"Probably around six, six-thirty. Maybe seven. We can go over at six, spend a little time talking about school and other things that don't really matter," Bill said, shrugging. Ralph nodded and glanced at his watch. Bill followed his gaze. Three-thirty. "We've still got time. We can go home and…"

Ralph colored, grabbing the sleeve of Bill's jacket and pulling him away from the school. "Let's not talk about that here," he said. Bill smirked, but shut up. He didn't really want everyone around them to know that they liked each other, either. He wasn't really _ashamed _of the fact that he liked Ralph, but people's views of him would change if they knew. They would change _drastically._

Once they got back to the house, Bill took off his sunglasses – Ralph hadn't wanted to kiss him with them on before, he probably wouldn't now – shoes, and dropped his bag on the floor, wincing at the loud thud. Damn, he had a lot of homework to do. He should probably get that done sometime… eh, after the dinner.

"Are you sure-"

"We've got time before we have to go," Bill said, grinning. Ralph looked a little nervous, glancing out the window at all the kids walking home from school. Bill grabbed Ralph's hand and pulled him out of view of the window, kissing him quickly and feeling the almost unbearable lust rising up inside him again. Ralph, back to the refrigerator, stared up at him, lips parted slightly, eyes wide. "C'mon. Only a little. We won't go that far – hell, we can even keep our shirts on if you want."

"Okay," Ralph said. "It's just weird. I mean, before you, I haven't really kissed anyone but the people before the island. After the island… I was just too fucked up for anyone to like me. You seem to have adjusted well, though."

Bill shrugged. "Yeah, well, nothing really happened to me," he said. He didn't really want to be talking about this right now; what if Ralph remembered that he'd been a savage? That wouldn't end well. It wouldn't end well at all. Ralph would freak out and probably move away, and Bill would go back to his boring life of school, home, school, home, school, home, maybe some girls in there. "I'm just Bill."

"Just Bill…" Ralph trailed off. "You know what's funny? I don't really remember what you did on the island, or where you came from. I mean, the savages were choirboys-"

"I was like Samneric," Bill blurted out, inwardly wincing at the lie. Damn, damn, damn, now when Ralph figured it out he'd realized that Bill had lied, not just not told the truth. "I… I came from the same place as them, too."

Ralph nodded. "That makes sense."

Bill managed a grin. "So," he said. "Enough talking about that."

Ralph nodded and the two headed to the bedroom. Bill honestly wasn't picky where they did this, but Ralph didn't want anyone to accidentally peek through the window and see them, so the second-floor bedroom was a good idea.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Bill kissed Ralph. All of the lustful feelings from earlier and the night before came back in full force, and Bill had to force himself to calm down. _He's not comfortable with doing much more, not comfortable, not comfortable doing more god damn it Bill control yourself… _played at the back of his mind the entire time. Bill slipped his hands to Ralph's waist, keeping his new mantra in mind and kissing him a little deeper before breaking the kiss.

Ralph looked up at him. They were both breathing hard, and somehow they'd become extremely close. "You're a really good kisser," Ralph said. Bill grinned.

"I know."

…

"Are you sure I should come?" Ralph asked. Bill rolled his eyes and nodded.

"They like you," he said. "And what're you gonna do here all alone?"

"True," Ralph said. Bill tossed him his jacket, and then the two walked to the next house over. Bill had actually sort of missed his room, his bed – he'd fallen off of Ralph's about five times already – and, as he'd just recently realized, he'd forgotten his guitar at home. He'd been too busy to run over and grab it, but now that he was going over anyway, he might as well. He wasn't fantastic at playing guitar, but he was okay.

And maybe if he practiced enough, he could serenade Ralph and then they could go back to the level that they'd gone the night before.

Or further.

But Bill could just hope for last night.

Cecelia answered the door, squealing when she saw Bill. She hugged him, then Ralph. "Are you gonna get married," she asked both of them, a very serious look in her eyes. Bill laughed and shook his head, ruffling her hair.

"Guys don't get married."

"But you kissed each other, that means you have-"

"You haven't told them, have you?" Bill asked, crouching down so that he could look her in the eye. She shook her head. "Good. Because it's a secret. Our secret. Keep it for an entire month and I'll buy you some candy. Every month you keep the secret, I'll buy you candy."

Cecelia's eyes lit up. "Okay!"

She ran off, probably to tell his parents that they were there. Bill rolled his eyes and took off his coat. "Give me your coat. I'll put 'em in my room. I've gotta go get my guitar, anyway."

Ralph complied, and then Bill was walking up to his room. His house seemed alien, even though he'd only been away for about a week. He adjusted quickly, however, and made it to his room. He threw both his and Ralph's coats on the bed, then headed back down.

"Where's the guitar?" Ralph asked.

"Decided to wait to grab it until we go home," Bill said, shrugging. Ralph nodded.

"That makes sense. I didn't know you could play guitar," Ralph said.

"Yeah. I've always liked music," he said. He'd given up choir after the island, of course, he didn't think he'd ever be able to be in a choir again, but guitar and solo singing was harmless enough. "Let's go see what we're going to have for dinner."

* * *

**By the way, this story will be going on for quite a long time. I'm working on an outline, and it's currently at twenty-four chapters.**

**But it's going to be a lot more than twenty-four chapters long. **

**So.**

**You've got a lot of this fic to look forward to.**


	12. Chapter Twelve: Bill

"You ready?" Bill asked. Ralph nodded, and Bill adjusted his sunglasses and grinned. He had a plan for the day. First they'd go wander around in the park for a little bit, and maybe, if they could, have some… fun times behind a tree somewhere. Then they'd go get groceries.

And then go home.

"I thought we were getting groceries?" Ralph asked when Bill headed for the trees. Bill grinned at him. "Bill, where are we going?"

"We're just taking a shortcut," Bill said. Ralph raised an eyebrow. "Okay, it's not actually a shortcut, but we can goof off a little before we get groceries."

Ralph turned pink, and the two began to wander through the park, ditching the more populated area to delve into the forested, solitary area. It was a nice place to walk – it was a little cold, and a light dusting of snow crunched underneath Bill's feet, but overall, it was just… nice. Nice to be walking with someone he liked, someone he cared about, someone he enjoyed being around-

What was that?

Bill spun around, looking for the source of the shadow he could've sworn he'd just seen. Nothing. He must have imagined it.

"What's wrong?" Ralph asked. Bill shook his head slowly.

"Nothing," he said. "Just thought I saw something… must've been an animal or something, I dunno. A dog, maybe."

_If it was a dog, then why aren't there any tracks? _Bill wondered. But he was just being silly. It was just his imagination; or maybe a large branch had moved into the sun, or maybe it had been a large cat climbing around in the-

Okay, now he could _hear _someone following them.

Ralph obviously heard it too, because he grabbed onto Bill and glanced fearfully around. "I don't think it's nothing," he said. "I think it's something. Is it Jack? Or Roger-"

"Don't be silly," Bill said, though he felt a little unnerved himself. "Jack's parents keep him locked up and Roger's… Roger's in an asylum, remember?"

He couldn't tell Ralph that Roger had escaped, not now, not ever. After all, if Ralph knew that Roger was on the loose-

"Is he really in an asylum?" someone asked; someone that wasn't Bill or Ralph. Bill whipped around just in time to see a small, dark-haired figure exit the cover of the trees, grinning wildly, holding a knife in one hand. Bill felt Ralph shrink against him and fought to stay standing tall. "Is he really… oh, who are you, anyway? I don't recognize you… Robert? Henry? Bill? You all look the same to me."

Bill was totally certain that this was Roger, but he didn't really want to confirm it. He didn't _want _it to be Roger, for both his and Ralph's sakes. "Put the knife down," he said, very calm, very steady, very in-control. "Put the knife down and leave us alone."

This someone laughed, and it was a terrifying laugh; a laugh that would haunt Bill's nightmares for the rest of his life. Bill winced, pulling Ralph behind him. "It'll be okay," he said, trying to convince himself as much as Ralph.

"You must know who I am by now, Ralph," the someone said, ignoring Bill's presence entirely. "_Insane? _Check. _Escaped asylum? _Check. _Going to kill you? _Ch-"

"But Roger didn't escape," Ralph said. His voice sounded small. "He… he's still."

Roger looked at Bill at last. "You know that's not true," he said. "Hiding it from him? Hiding a lot from him, I'd guess."

Bill stayed silent, crossing his arms over his chest. Roger laughed again.

"Oh, _how threatening," _Roger said, grinning again. "Are you gonna protect your boyfriend?"

Bill narrowed his eyes. "Get out of here," he said. "Or I will hurt you."

"Can you?" Roger asked. "Can you really?"

He spent a couple of minutes studying Bill, taking in his hair, build, and stance, then nodded.

"Bill," he said. "That's who you are."

"What if I told you I have no idea who the hell 'Bill' is?" Bill asked. Roger raised an eyebrow.

"So forgettable you even forget yourself?" he asked. "Tell me, why is Ralphy hanging around you, anyway? Doesn't he know you tried to-"

"_Shut up!" _Bill shouted, losing his cool at last. Roger looked surprised.

"He doesn't _know_? God, Bill, you're more forgettable then I thought," Roger said. Bill narrowed his eyes. This wasn't right. Roger wasn't acting right – of course, had Roger ever acted _right_? No, no of course he hadn't. "Well, Ralphy, let me tell you all about Bill."

Bill looked back at Ralph. He was frozen, eyes wide, like a rabbit about to get shot. "Roger," Bill said, voice low and dangerous. Roger didn't even look at him.

"Bill was one of us," Roger said. "A choirboy. A _savage_." He said the last word in a sing-song fashion, grinning.

"I- Bill-"

"It's not true," Bill said, turning to look at Ralph. "I-it's not-"

"He lied to you about me being locked up," Roger said. "He lied about this, too."

"I- no, I-"

Ralph took off through the trees and, with no hesitation, Roger followed him.

"Shit," Bill muttered under his breath, chasing the two. Screw the fact that Ralph would probably never even look at him again. If he didn't hurry up, Ralph would be _dead_, and there would be no opportunity to fix this.

Roger came into sight and Bill leaped for him, catching him around the waist and knocking him to the ground. Roger was both shorter and lighter than Bill, but he had a knife. Bill managed to pin Roger to the ground, sitting on his back, while Roger hissed and growled and struggled, arms whipping around crazily. Bill was about to pin the arm holding the knife down when Ralph reappeared. Distracted, Bill glanced up to meet Ralph's eyes and was met with a searing pain in his hip. He gasped and tipped off of Roger, looking down. There was a knife. Oh, there was a knife stuck _in his hip. _There was blood, there was blood and a knife and pain and oh God everything was spinning and spinning…

He laid his head back down, closing his eyes and trying to will away the pain. He heard Roger laugh again and knew that he should probably get up and _help _but _how the fuck was he supposed to he'd gotten stabbed it wasn't fatal he didn't think but God he'd been stabbed._

Another voice, a familiar voice that Bill couldn't quite place came into the picture. "Roger!" it shrieked, and then there was struggling and Roger shouting that he'd be back and screaming and _fuck_, it _hurt_…

Someone put their hand on his face and he opened his eyes. Someone he'd never seen before in his life was kneeling beside him. He tried to speak but couldn't find the words.

"It's alright, we'll get you to the hospital," she said. Bill nodded, closed his eyes, and blacked out.

* * *

**dun dun dun**

**yeah bill got stabbed**

**but it's not fatal so**

**don't worry**

**unless it gets infected**

**wouldn't that be a shame**


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Maurice

Maurice stood outside his father's office, trying to work up the nerve to knock. After yesterday's incident, he'd grabbed Roger and dragged him back to the house – how the _hell_ had he gotten that far away, how the _hell _had he managed to stab Bill but thank _God _that Bill had been too busy dealing with the fact that he'd been stabbed to see that Maurice had shown up – then locked him in his room. He'd also put the chain on him; he didn't want to take any chances. He was getting too lax with Roger. Roger was too crazy.

Roger was… well, maybe he was too much for Maurice to handle.

It was hard to admit, but maybe it was true. And now his father was in his at-home office, answering phone calls about Roger Dressler's escape and rumored stabbing of the Boudreau boy, they hadn't been able to talk to the boy yet but they'd dried to talk to Ralph Roemers and he'd been unresponsive, oh that's right, both of _them_ had been on the island, _too –_

"Calm down, Maurice," he muttered to himself. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He wasn't going to freak out. He wasn't. He was going to march right into that office and tell his father that he broke Roger out of the asylum. He was going to tell his father where Roger was and that he was restrained and that the guys could just come right in and take him back. He could say that he was… he was just doing an experiment with Roger. Yes, an experiment. He'd thought he could fix Roger and he was wrong. He was just practicing for when he did the same thing as his father did now.

Okay.

He could go in there.

But he should probably knock.

After debating knocking for about five more minutes, Maurice stepped a bit closer to door and raised his hand. Alright. He'd knock and tell his father. And then Roger would be gone. Roger and all of his stress would be gone. His grades would go up. He could maybe mend things with Gwendolyn. _He just had to knock, damn it._

He didn't get the chance to. His father opened the door and looked surprised to see Maurice standing there, pale and nervous-looking. "Maurice," he said. "What do you need?"

"Um," Maurice said. Now that he had to chance to confess, it wasn't as easy. He searched for the right words to use. "Well. I."

"Is this going to take very long?" his father asked, checking his watch. "If you need money for something, you know where we keep extra money. You can just take it-"

"No, it's not anything like that," Maurice said. He swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his throat seemed. He needed some water or something. "I… well… Roger, uh, 'escaped' six months ago, right?"

"Approximately," his father said, nodding. He looked a bit suspicious. "Why?"

"I…" Maurice trailed off. He looked down at the floor, the carpet and his socks suddenly very interesting. "Ihelpedhimescape."

"What?" his father asked. Maurice had a sneaking suspicion that he'd known what Maurice had said, but was just trying to be mean. Maurice closed his eyes and tried again.

"I… I helped Roger escape."

It was quiet.

Maurice opened his eyes, looking at his father. He was just staring at Maurice, looking like he didn't quite believe him.

"You're joking."

"No. I'm… I…" Maurice took a deep breath. "I… I paid the night guy and I took your keys and I took Roger out and…"

"Where is he?" Maurice's father said. Maurice could tell that he was mad and took a step back. "_Maurice. Don't tell me you just released him into the world like he's ready for it."_

"No. No. He's. He's downstairs. He's in the basement," Maurice said. "He's in the back room."

"You've kept him down there for six months," his father said, a little doubtful. Maurice nodded. "And he's only escaped this last time, when he stabbed the Boudreau boy."

"Well…" Maurice thought of the time he'd escaped and gone to the church and freaked out Ralph. "There was one other time… but nothing happened. I caught him before he got too far."

"Hm," his father said. "Well, I'm going to call some people to come pick him up."

"Wait," Maurice said, pulling two keys out of his pocket – one for the door and one for Roger's restraint. "The bigger one's for the door."

His father didn't ask what the smaller one was for, but he'd find out soon enough.

Maurice, his bedroom being the basement, decided to head into the bathroom. He leaned on the sink, staring down into the drain. He was… was going to be okay. This was going to be okay. He was just going to forget Roger.

The men would come and put Roger in a straightjacket and take him back and put him back in his solitary confinement room.

Maurice would be free.

It would be okay.

He wouldn't have to deal with Roger anymore.

He'd done the right thing.

This was the right thing.

He heard someone pull up; probably the attendants. He stayed staring down into the drain, fantasizing that something would come up and pull him away. He didn't want to be here anymore. He should probably get out of the house so that he wouldn't have to hear them pull away with Roger.

"Maurice!"

Oh shit, Roger was calling for him. _Screaming for him._ He couldn't just leave Roger. No, he couldn't. This was a bad idea.

He ran out of the bathroom and to the room at the back of the house. With trembling fingers he tore through the cupboards. He'd started to cry. He didn't know why. He didn't care. _Where was it god damn it?_

His father kept two guns. One of them he always kept loaded, just in case he needed it on very short notice. The other one was for show – ah, there was the one he needed.

_Maurice, do you know what you're doing?_

_I am rescuing Roger. That is what I am doing._

_You're going to kill people._

_I am rescuing Roger._

_Have you ever shot a gun in your life?_

_It can't be that hard. Just pull the trigger, right?_

He laughed at that – it didn't sound like a laugh though, it sounded like he was choking, like he was crying and choking and it wasn't real laughter, nothing was _real, _he needed to fucking _hurry_ or they'd take Roger away for good.

He ran – wasn't it like running with scissors, running with a loaded gun? – for the basement. He opened the door, kind of dreading the scene downstairs.

It wasn't as bad as he thought. His father stood at the foot of the stairs, watching as the attendants carried a screeching, twisting, straightjacketed Roger.

Maurice hoped that his aim was good enough.

His father was the closest.

The world seemed to slow down as he took careful aim, rubbing tears out of his eyes, and pulled the trigger. He wasn't quite ready for the backlash and winced. He saw the bullet punch straight through his father's lower back, and his father fall to his knees. Even from the top of the stairs he could see the blood, the blood and, oh, his father was going to die but his father didn't have his hands on Roger so he'd have to kill the others next.

They'd dropped Roger, and he'd rolled under Maurice's bed. Good. He wouldn't get hurt, then. Maurice knew he had to be quick; not only would people hear the gunshots, but if one of these guys jumped out of the way… he didn't know how many bullets this thing had, or how to reload it, so he just had to hope he was doing things right.

Point, shoot, miss, damn it, point, shoot, we've got one, two, three, four, oh, that one's not quite dead, point, shoot, dead, five out of five, one hundred percent.

Breathing hard, Maurice dropped the gun and ran for the bed. Roger squirmed his way back out from under it and Maurice got him out of the straightjacket. "I'm sorry," Maurice said, half-sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Roger slapped him across the face and Maurice jerked back, shocked, but a bit calmer. "Thanks," he said, sniffling and wiping the tears off of his face. "Sorry-"

"Stop apologizing," Roger said, standing in. "We need to get out of here."

"We should…" Maurice stood up as well, hugging himself and looking around at the dead bodies. One of them twitched; like he wasn't completely dead, and Maurice had to focus to not puke up his lunch. "We should grab some supplies. Food. Money. Warmer clothes."

"We don't have much time. I give you five minutes," Roger said, loping up the stairs. Maurice glanced around and pulled a sweatshirt on over his t-shirt, careful to not step on anyone. He grabbed his backpack as well, emptying it of all of the unneeded homework and, after a brief consideration, unlocking Roger's chain and sticking it in there. He might need it for something.

Five minutes later, after shoving as much canned food as he could into the backpack, Maurice accepted a coat from Roger and the two headed out the door.

* * *

**i have no idea how guns work **

**hence the point and shoot point and shoot thing**

**so**

**i'm sorry**

**but**

**i hope that the chapter was enjoyable enough anyway**


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Maurice

They stopped at a church that night, slipping in through a side door that had been left unlocked. The front doors of churches were usually left unlocked for the sinners of the night, but Maurice didn't exactly want to have to climb up the steps to get inside. No, he was glad that the side door had been unlocked.

"Are you sure this is a good place?" Roger asked. He looked a little nervous – Maurice didn't quite know why, he wasn't _actually _a demon. "What if someone comes in?"

"Then we're homeless," Maurice said, grinning. Roger still looked nervous. To be honest, Maurice was nervous, too, but it had more to do with the fact that he _totally hadn't just murdered five people _and _wasn't on the run _because _he'd done so many illegal things in the past few months _and less to do with sleeping in the basement of a church. "But we're sleeping in the boiler room, anyway."

Roger looked like he wanted to know why, but didn't ask. Funny, he'd seemed a lot more normal since Maurice had… since they'd left the house. Maybe it was just Maurice's perception changing. To other people, Roger probably still seemed like a mentally unstable demon. Or maybe Roger was just having a good day. That happened, right? Mental patients could have 'good' days? He thought his father had said something about that once.

"I'm going to go see if there are some things we can use for bedding," Maurice said, managing to keep his smile on his face, as he left Roger in the boiler room. Roger nodded and began to dig through Maurice's backpack. Satisfied that Roger wouldn't go anywhere, Maurice began to explore the church.

In a back room there were what looked like costumes for Christmas things and also sheets to cover up the altars. He filled his arms with the cloth and headed back down to the boiler room. There were two reasons he'd chosen the boiler room to stay in – first of all, it was in the back of the basement of the church, so they probably would not be found, and secondly, the boiler produced heat, so the closer he was to it, the warmer he'd be, right?

Right. Theoretically.

When he got back to the boiler room, Roger was gone and the contents of his backpack were strewn everywhere. Maurice sighed and dropped the sheets and costumes. Scratch the 'good day' idea. Roger was just talking more.

He would have to go find Roger. He'd _not killed _for the boy, he couldn't let him get away that easily. After a brief hesitation, he grabbed the chain, snapping one side over his wrist and getting the other side ready to snap around Roger's. He'd get Roger to stay with him if he had to _force _him to stay.

Oh God, insanity was contagious.

But, no. He wasn't insane. He was just… he just wanted to keep Roger safe from others, and others safe from Roger. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that. He was… he was making the world a better place.

But none of that would matter if he didn't find Roger.

He was about to just choose a random room to look in when he heard a crash a few rooms over. He hurried there, making sure that the chain didn't rattle too much – he didn't really know how Roger would react and didn't want him getting scared – and wondering what the hell Roger could be doing.

Roger was smashing bottles of communion wine. Maurice watched, wide-eyed, as he took bottles off of the shelves and flung them across the room, flung them into the floor, completely destroyed the bottles and soaked the room in dark purple. Maurice winced as a piece of glass flew very near to his face, very nearly cutting him. "Roger," he said. His voice sounded choked; forced, almost. "A-are you okay?"

Roger looked up at him. He was calm. "Yes," he said. "Yes. I am doing quite well, actually. Thank you for asking." There was a slight tug at the corners of Roger's mouth, like he was having to fight bursting into laughter.

"What are you doing?"

Roger looked around as if seeing all of it for the first time. "Well," he said. "It appears that I am smashing bottles of communion wine."

"Well- yeah, but _why_?" Maurice asked, picking his way through the broken glass. While Roger was distracted, he snapped the manacle around his wrist. Roger jumped at the sound and looked down at his hand. The two of them were now chained together with about six feet of leeway. It was a long chain – Maurice had had to make sure of that because Roger had been using it while exploring Maurice's room. "C'mon, let's go sleep."

Roger shook his head, reaching for one of the last bottles left. "I need to- I need to finish," he said. Maurice used the chain and his strength to his advantage, grabbing the bit nearest to Roger's hand and yanking, hard. Roger fell against him, slipping on the wine-covered floor. "No-"

"Roger," Maurice said. "Come with me."

"No!" Roger said, yanking the chain back. Maurice, who was holding the majority of the chain, used it to his advantage and wrapped it around Roger, dragging him kicking and screaming to the boiler room, the two of them making purple tracks on the near-perfectly clean floor. Once they got back into the boiler room, Maurice locked the door and unwrapped the chain. Roger sat as far away from him as the chain would allow and glared.

Maurice opened up a can of fruit and approached Roger. "You need to eat," he said. Seeing that Roger probably wasn't going to eat any time soon, he set the can down and retreated to get his own food – not mixed fruit like Roger's, but just pears. They would have to make finding food a priority – perhaps the church had some cookies or something stashed in some room for the littleuns – little ones.

Roger seemed like he needed some cookies.

* * *

**Wow. Big paragraphs instead of loads of dialogue. I never use big paragraphs.**

**i'm evolving**


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Maurice

They woke up early – Maurice made sure of it, he didn't want someone walking in on them. They'd left a trail of wine, so if anyone were to come in and see, it wouldn't be hard at all to find them. Roger wasn't speaking to him. He hadn't even eaten his canned fruit the night before, so Maurice worked on it while he repacked his backpack and finished it just before they headed out.

They left by the same side door, shivering against the cold December wind and wading through ankle-deep snow. It had drifted a little during the night and there was one drift that came nearly to Maurice's knees – it was going to be a long winter, he supposed.

Roger walked as far away from Maurice as the chain would allow, not caring about the people staring at the chain that stretched between the two of them. Maurice smiled awkwardly at all of these people, but Roger glared and they usually hurried on quickly. Maurice figured that they had a few minutes before someone got worried and contacted the authorities. They had to find a place to stay for the day quickly.

Roger drew closer to him and Maurice glanced over and grinned. "Talking to me again?" he asked. Roger glared at him, and Maurice's smile wilted a little. "What do you need?"

"What are we planning on doing?" Roger asked. It almost didn't even sound like a question; more like an order. "We need to have some sort of plan."

"I'll think of something," Maurice said, waving his free hand aimlessly. Roger yanked on the chain, pulling Maurice's arm roughly away from his side. "Ow, Roger! What was that for?"

"Listen to me," Roger said. His dark brown eyes flicked around nervously, like he was expecting someone to suddenly attack. Maurice shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. "We can't stay here."

"Where? This town? This particular bit of sidewalk we're standing on?" Maurice asked, trying to keep the mood light. Roger wasn't in the mood. He pulled at the chain again.

"Out in the open," Roger said. He seemed a bit paranoid, which wasn't like him. Usually he didn't care at all. "And your stupid chain thing doesn't help. It's drawing too much attention."

"It's staying there," Maurice said. "I don't want you running off on me."

"I- I won't," Roger said.

"Promise?" Maurice asked. Roger glanced around once more, then nodded, slightly pinkish. "Fine."

After a good five or so minutes of Maurice digging around for the key, the chain was safely tucked away in his backpack and the two of them were free from each other. Neither of them moved further away from the other, though Maurice had an idea that Roger just wanted to bolt.

"Better?" Maurice asked. Roger glared for a bit, then nodded and began to walk away, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. Maurice followed, grinning. As much as he hated to admit it, Roger was right. Before they'd looked… well, a little weird, but now they were just normal teenage boys. And anyway, he could just put the chain on for when he was asleep, so that Roger didn't run off on him. "So, where do you say we spend the night tonight?"

They spent the day wandering around, stealing some food around lunchtime and breaking into an empty house when it started to get dark. The owners were away on vacation, Maurice figured. Either way, absolutely nobody was there, but it was fully furnished and stocked. Before making some food for their supper, Maurice shoved his backpack full of food.

For supper they had canned soup that he'd found in one of the cupboards. He'd warmed it up over the stove, and it made a decent dinner. Despite his initial trepidations of staying in someone's house when they could come home at any time, Maurice decided that this was definitely better than the church. At least here Roger couldn't spill the blood of Jesus Christ.

Also, he'd done some snooping around, and there was a guest bedroom upstairs that they could sleep in. At least, Maurice assumed that it was a guest bedroom. It was almost completely empty, apart from the bed and bedside table and lamp. They could sleep in there, side by side, maybe curled up close together – hell, maybe Maurice would leave the chain off and just hold Roger so that he couldn't escape. That would sure as hell be more comfortable than the chain.

Supper was awkward – they sat at opposite ends of a long table, Roger just picking at his soup. Maurice wondered if he'd be able to finish off Roger's soup. No use in letting it go to waste, right?

He shook his head, annoyed with himself. He really should be thinking about more than soup right now. He was _on the run. _Because he'd… well… he'd _totally not killed someone to save his mentally unstable friend. _Who, in reality, should be in an asylum.

Roger dropped his spoon on the table to get Maurice's attention and Maurice glanced up, meeting Roger's eyes. He looked concerned – well, as concerned as someone like Roger could look – and Maurice offered him a weak smile. "I'm just tired," he said. "Church floor, you know. Not very comfortable when you're damned."

"Not very comfortable no matter what," Roger muttered. "Being damned has nothing to do with it. It's concrete."

"True," Maurice said. "The sheets didn't do much. But we've got a bed tonight!"

It was silent, then Maurice winked at Roger.

"Dad won't be walking in this time."

Roger turned slightly pink and diverted his attention back to his soup. Maurice grinned and finished up his soup as well, carrying his bowl to the kitchen and washing it out of habit. He realized halfway through that, since he had just broken into this person's house and stolen his/her soup, he probably didn't have to wash the bowl, but it was just common courtesy. He could wash Roger's bowl when he was done, too.

There was a crash from the other room, and Maurice jumped. The bowl flew from his hands and shattered on the counter. Maurice sighed and carefully made his way back to the dining room, not wanting to cut his foot.

Roger was sitting calmly in his chair, the bowl of soup upside-down in front of him. Maurice was almost certain that there had still been soup in the bowl when he'd left – ah, there it was, leaking out from the lips of the bowl. Maurice rolled his eyes. "You made me break the bowl," he said. Roger shrugged.

"So? We're already breaking and entering, what's a bit of property damage on top of it?" he asked. Hm. He seemed to be in his 'rebellious teenager' stage. What a great time for him to hit that.

Maurice sighed. "Well, let's head to the guest bedroom. We don't want the neighbors to get suspicious because the lights are on," he said. Roger rolled his eyes and stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. He didn't seem to care. He was in a very destructive mood, apparently.

He left the backpack in the doorway, but Roger kicked it out and pulled the door shut. They were plunged into darkness, their only light being the moon trickling in through the window. Maurice fumbled while trying to get undressed; his shirt getting stuck over his head and him nearly falling over trying to get it off.

Eventually, however, he had stripped down to his underwear and had found the lamp's on switch. The room was bathed in an eerie, yellow light, reflecting off of every available surface and accentuating the shadows. Roger had also taken everything off but his underwear – and his socks, Maurice noted with some amusement – and was kneeling on the bed, peeling the blanket away from the pillows.

Maurice had never been more attracted to someone than in that moment. Even Gwen… no. For all of his joking about it, he couldn't actually… do anything tonight. They were…

Well, the both of them were already going to hell.

Nothing he did would make a difference anymore.

He could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Hell, he was _free._

Before Roger could fall asleep on him, Maurice grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close. Roger wriggled, unsure of what was going on, and Maurice kissed him on the neck, savoring the experience, because God knew how long it would be before they were caught and _both _sent to an asylum.

Roger stiffened at first; unused to the experience, but after a few more kisses he relaxed, slipping free of Maurice and turning to face him. They were both kneeling on the bed, Maurice a few inches taller than Roger no matter how good his posture was. Maurice let his eyes trail down Roger's body – he was still too skinny, after months of Maurice making sure he ate, but he was beginning to fill out; his ribs and collarbone and hip-bones not jutting out so sharply. They were still there, though, and while that wasn't necessarily _bad_, it made Maurice feel like he wasn't doing a good enough job taking care of Roger.

That was silly, though. Roger was two years older than Maurice – around seventeen, if Maurice remembered right.

But…

But Roger was mentally unstable.

Maurice should be taking care of him.

Not quite sure why he was doing it, Maurice reached out and cupped Roger's cheek in his hand. Roger's eyes tracked Maurice's hand's movement, and he stiffened a bit. Maurice smiled. Roger really was adorable when he was awkward, which was basically any time he wasn't hurting anyone. He didn't have any people skills. Maurice always had to make up for that flaw of Roger's.

He reached his other hand to Roger and pulled him close, kissing him on the mouth and gripping his face, trying to not be very rough. Roger didn't agree with the 'gentle' thing Maurice was going for, digging his fingers into Maurice's hair and hurting his skull with sharp fingernails. There was no way they were staying upright with the amount of force Roger was putting behind it, and they fell sideways, Maurice barely missing hitting his head on the wall.

They broke apart, Maurice still holding Roger's face and Roger's hands still tangled in Maurice's hair. They stared at each other, illuminated in the yellow light from the lamp, breathing hard. That hadn't been the first time they'd kissed, but _God_, it had been the best. The mix of risk from the fact that they had broken into the house and the certainty that Maurice's father wouldn't nearly walk in on them this time made the perfect recipe for something like this.

"Are we really gonna do this?" Maurice asked, still a little breathless. Roger's eyes were dark and certain, and he nodded.

"We are going to do whatever the fuck we want," Roger said. His voice was even, but Maurice could feel him quivering slightly. "We are going to do whatever the fuck we want here, and then we are going to go kill the others. Jack. Robert. Percival. Henry. Harold. Johnny. Ralph and that goddam Bill. All of them."

"Aim for something more lethal than the hip next time," Maurice said, and Roger glared at him. Well he certainly didn't know how to take a joke. "I'm _kidding, _Roger, don't take everything so seriously. You're great at stabbing people."

"I sure as hell am," Roger muttered, pulling Maurice close to kiss him again. Maurice, not expecting the sudden contact, gasped a little, but recovered quickly, slipping his hand from Roger's cheek to the back of his neck, keeping him close. As an extra precaution, he wrapped his legs around Roger's flushing a little at the sudden warmth that rushed through his body.

Roger broke the kiss but stayed close – he _had _to, Maurice had him trapped – and ducked his head to press his face into Maurice's neck. He didn't seem like he needed comfort, Maurice was a bit confused as to what he was doing –

Oh. Oh. Roger had just started _biting_ Maurice, but it wasn't a bite, really, it didn't hurt in a bad way. It was just a quick nip. Roger's tongue began to work at the soft spot at the base of Maurice's neck, and he bit again. Maurice couldn't stop his back from arching, forcing himself further toward Roger and he bit his tongue to stop from moaning. Roger paused, glancing up at him. Maurice, not knowing what else to do, smiled awkwardly. Roger rolled his eyes.

Roger's fingers untangled themselves from Maurice's hair and ran down Maurice's body, unsure. Maurice rolled over so that he was hovering over Roger, and Roger decided to leave his hands at Maurice's hips, his own trapped by Maurice's legs. Their lower halves were pressed together, Maurice propped up on his elbows so that he wasn't completely crushing Roger.

He kissed Roger on the mouth – Roger liked messing with him elsewhere, but the best thing, Maurice thought, was just kissing. It was simple, and sweet, and _ouch_, Roger had just bitten his bottom lip, hard. Maurice gasped, his mouth opening. Roger's tongue slipped in like a snake, and then Maurice wasn't so sure that he should be on top by the way Roger's tongue was battling his. It was… if he thought about it, well, it was sort of gross, but he was getting such an intense pleasure from _everything _about this, even the pain was nice, really, and the taste of blood had always been one of his favorite tastes, he didn't care about the grossness of the situation.

They drew apart, a mixture of blood and spit dripping from Maurice's mouth and landing on Roger's chest. That was also a bit disgusting, Maurice noted. Roger's fingernails dug into Maurice's hips now, most of his fingers on the backside and thumbnails in the front, pulling him toward him, grinding him against him. Maurice went with it, feeling himself harden _down there_, gasping and losing himself, clenching his fists.

Roger's eyes were half-lidded; Maurice wasn't sure if he was regretting this or extremely enjoying it. Maurice decided to try out a few things himself, he wasn't the most experienced, of course, but neither was Roger, having been locked up in an asylum the past five years. No, both of them were very much operating on instinct, kissing and biting and trying to work up the courage to go past the lower belly. At least, that's what Maurice was trying to do. He wasn't sure if he could hold back much longer, but he wasn't sure what Roger would think-

To hell with it. Roger would do whatever he wanted. Maurice slipped his hand down, down to tug at the band of Roger's underwear, tugging it down and wincing a little as Roger's fingernails dug deeper into his skin.

And then Roger's underwear was around his knees, and it was just Maurice's to go next. Roger took care of this, moving one hand from its assault on Maurice's hips and sliding them off with a quick proficiency that Maurice had been unable to muster.

It felt weird, but it was a _good_ weird, being completely naked on a bed, entangled with Roger, touching him, _tasting _him, feeling him. Maurice's right hand, the one that had taken off Roger's underwear, was between their hips, rubbing Roger's hipbone, trying to work up the courage. Roger had no such qualms, _being insane and all Maurice wouldn't expect him to, _losing whatever patience he'd had and shoving Maurice off of him roughly and switching their positions. It was Maurice who was now looking up at Roger, eyes wide and illuminated in the yellow light from the lamp. Roger looked down at him with an expression that was at first his usual apathetic stare, then turned into something savage and terrifying.

Then Roger entered him, and Maurice shrieked, not expecting it to _hurt_ so much, not expecting Roger to be this _rough, _but oh, _who was he kidding, _of course Roger was rogue, he was _insane, _he was _savage, _he was _Roger, _and that was what Maurice loved most about him. The danger. The risk. The _oh thank God the pain was going away._

Maurice, breathing heavily, could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. That was painful, but he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the pain. He closed his eyes, trying to keep a hold on himself, and when he opened them, Roger was looking a bit curious.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, glancing down at both of their crotches. "I mean… it's not very big. Yours is bigger."

"I…" Maurice was still a bit short of breath. He closed his eyes for a moment more to gain control of himself. He was beginning to calm down. "Yeah. It's like when… when you try to force something, but it doesn't quite fit, and it just really needs something… we need something slippery to make it fit, you know? It seems like it could fit, but it's just so… _rough. _But… I kind of…"

Maurice turned a bit red.

"You liked it," Roger said. He was grinning a full-on grin, his insane grin (did Roger have any other grin, really?), the one that showed all of his teeth like he was baring them. "You fucking like it when it hurts."

Maurice swallowed and nodded. Roger dragged his fingernail across Maurice's face, and Maurice winced as his skin burned. The tears still pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he wasn't going to let them fall, because Roger… Roger would just think he was weak.

"Perfect pair, the two of us," Roger said. His voice was quieter now, like he wasn't aware that he was talking out loud. "You like being hurt, I like doing the hurting. Perfect… fucking… pair."

"Oh, shut up," Maurice said, wrapping his arms around Roger's neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

That night, Roger pushed himself into Maurice a few more times. They eventually stopped and found the covers – they'd fallen on the floor at some point – curling up beneath them. Maurice was crying freely by this point, his voice almost hoarse from shrieking so much. They were at opposite sides of the bed, partly because Roger wasn't fond of human contact and partly because Maurice didn't want Roger to take notice of the fact that he was crying. He _hurt_ all over, from the points where Roger had dug his fingernails in to the dull, throbbing ache in his ass.

"Are you crying?" Roger asked after a pause. Maurice tried to get a hold of himself.

"N-no," he said. He'd failed miserably. Roger snorted.

"Baby."

* * *

**i don't know what i'm doing but uh**

**that's what the outline said**

**so uh**

**yeah**

"**we break into your house, steal your soup, and have sex in your guest bedroom," is maurice and roger's motto**


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Jack

It was just like Jack had slipped off the face of the earth.

He hadn't left Percival's house. Percival's mother hadn't seemed to notice anything – sure, once she'd walked in on him showering, but she'd just looked blankly at him and left – and Percival himself had been a happy little boy. Every morning he'd head off to school, smiling even though his living conditions were extremely horrible, and Jack would just watch him leave through one of the few not-boarded up windows.

He'd found an old copy of Dante's Inferno in the back of a closet while he was cleaning – he couldn't stand how messy the place was, he probably wasn't going to get the crayon off of the walls, but he could clean up a _bit, _right? – and had been powering his way through that, reading a canto at a time and _thinking_ about it. He had his notebook with him, of course, that had been one thing he'd been sure to grab before he'd left, and he often wrote down his thoughts in there. He'd already placed many boys from the island in circles of Hell – Maurice was in with the Flatterers, Roger with the violent against others, and himself… well, Jack hadn't found a place for himself, yet.

Probably Circle Nine with Satan himself. But he hadn't gotten that far yet.

One day, when Percival came back from school, Jack decided that they were going to go out.

_Not the best idea Jacky what if your parents see you not that they'd be around here at all because it's BELOW YOU telephone kid is BELOW YOU this house is BELOW YOU it's all so GODDAM BELOW YOU_

Jack dug his fingernails into his hands and willed himself to calm down. It wasn't good for him to get so worked up; he didn't know why it happened or really anything about it, it was just that ever since the island he couldn't keep his thoughts straight for more than a few moments. He was fairly certain that he was _insane, yes, that's it. _

Percival came back from school with a newspaper and a worried expression.

"What?" Jack asked, grabbing Percival by the shoulders. Percival winced and held up the newspaper. Headline, front page, 'BOY KILLS FATHER AND THREE OTHERS; STILL ON RUN.' Jack grabbed the newspaper and scanned the article.

_Maurice Machintire, aged fifteen, reportedly went insane…_

"No…" Jack said, taking in the 'killed four people' and 'nearly killed one more, but he managed to drag himself to the phone before he bled out' and 'Machintire and his companion, a mental patient with the name of Roger Dressler are still on the loose.' "_Shit."_

_Oh you're screwed now Jacky. You know what they're going to do? They're going to come after you Roger's going to come after you and KILL you if you would've stayed at home this NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED but you FUCKED UP JACK YOU FUCKED UP AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO DIE_

"I'm leaving," Jack said, nodding. "I- I need to go."

"Can I come with you?" Percival asked, looking up at him, hopeful and excited. "I wanna go on an adventure!"

"No- you've got to go to school," Jack said. "If you ever want to get out of poverty, you've got to get a good education and then get a good job. You can't come with-"

"He'll come kill me anyway, you know," Percival said, his eyes clouding over a bit. Jack paused and looked at him. "I know these things. Like I knew who you were! You don't want me to go because I might get killed by Roger. But I bet he'll come kill me anyway. He'll want to kill us all. And when he's done with us, he'll probably kill Maurice, too. Unless…" Percival's forehead scrunched up in concentration. "No… I don't know if he'll kill Maurice. He might not. But he wants to kill you and he will kill me, no matter what."

"How do you-" Jack cut himself off. He didn't want to know. "Fine. If you want to come, pack light and meet me at the front door in five minutes."

Percival smiled and bounced away. Jack could hear him talking to his mother, who didn't say anything in response. Jack briefly wondered where the money for food and other things came from, but decided it didn't matter. Perhaps Percival had a father that sent money. He'd seen Percival go out to do the grocery shopping, so there was that mystery taken care of, but…

_Jack that doesn't matter you're leaving anyway and so is he what are you even planning on doing you can't reason with Roger he'll kill you before you get THREE WORDS OUT did you hear me THREE FUCKING WORDS OUT HE'LL MURDER YOU JUST LIKE HE MADE MAURICE MURDER THE OTHERS if you're here you can lock your door at least JESUS CHRIST JACK YOU'RE SO STUPID_

Jack shoved The Inferno in his backpack, breaking his train of thought and sending his worries to the back of his mind. Percival appeared a few moments later, dragging his backpack on the floor behind him. Jack rolled his eyes.

"No, put it on so the bottom doesn't tear," he said. Percival looked at him, uncomprehending. Jack sighed and picked up the backpack, fitting it onto Percival's back and adjusting the straps to fit right.

"Thank you," Percival said, smiling up at him. Jack couldn't help but find himself smile back – maybe if he hadn't been so fucked up from that stupid island, he could've been a dad someday.

But now it was too late.

That stupid island had fucked up his life, and there was nothing he could do now but drag Percival Wymes Madison around and try to not get killed.

He had such a great life plan. If he would've stayed home he could've maybe finished out high school and gone on to university and gotten married and had children and _don't be delusional Jack what girl would like you do you even like girls you haven't shown interest in one you haven't shown interest in anyone but Ralph _no, you hadn't liked Ralph, you admired him, you hated him, you loved him, you hated him, you wanted to murder him _but it was all out of love right you were at a delicate time in your life thirteen years old and so was he and he was so PERFECT and everything YOU WANTED TO BE but you weren't he was TALL and BROAD and MUSCULAR and BEAUTIFUL and you were SKINNY and PALE and FRECKLED and UGLY and he had CHARISMA and you had EXPERIENCE LEADING A GROUP and together you could've ruled the island but he just DIDN'T UNDERSTAND you had to HUNT you had to PROVE YOURSELF to him or to the other members of the choir you DIDN'T KNOW_

"Jack?"

Percival's voice cut into his thoughts like a knife, and Jack shook his head to clear it. "Yeah," he said. "Let's go."

Percival nodded and the two headed out.

* * *

**a bit of a shorter chapter but you know**

**the last chapter was over 3k so it balances out**

**but next chapter should be interesting **

**hahaha **


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Jack

The night before they'd spent the night in an old, abandoned building. Jack had mentally thrown himself off of a bridge for not thinking to grab blankets, but they'd covered themselves with coats as much as possible and curled together to keep warm. God, how he hated winter. If it were summer _or possibly somewhere more tropical like THE ISLAND _they wouldn't have to worry about anything, but as was, he had to make sure that Percival didn't get sick and die.

He was really regretting taking Percival along with him. He'd formed an attachment to the boy while he'd stayed with him – the kid was like a little brother he'd never had – and he didn't want Percival to die. Whether it be by Roger's hand or pneumonia, Jack had a bad idea that Percival was going to be dead by the time this whole goddam thing was over.

"I think I know where we need to go," Percival said over their breakfast of a piece of bread each and warmed-up snow. "Do you- do you have money? 'Cause we might need to get someone to drive us there."

Jack nodded. He'd grabbed money when he'd first left his house about a week ago, but had never thought of using it to help out Percival and his family. Now he was glad of that – they could maybe even buy some hot food for lunch or something. That would be fun, and it would warm them up.

About fifteen minutes later, they were in a car and Percival was telling the driver an address that Jack had never heard before in his life. Probably someone that could help them or something; who knew? Hopefully they would let the two stay for the night, whoever it was. Nobody could be so heartless as to turn out two hungry, cold

_Shut the fuck up Jacky you know you would've you would've locked the door and kept doing whatever you'd been doing; READING or WRITING or PLAYING YOUR STUPID PIANO because you can't sing anymore but you sure as hell can PLAY THAT PIANO because you PRACTICE FOR HOURS AND HOURS AND HOURS because ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS MUSIC AND YOU SUCK AT IT YOU DON'T REALLY CARE you want to do music TO SAY YOU DO MUSIC not because you have any TALENT or PASSION_

But that's not true. Jack had used to have talent and passion, for singing, at least. It wasn't his fault he had to practice hard at the piano. Even if you don't have any talent, you can make up for it in lots and lots of practice, right? He thought so. At least, he hadn't been too bad at piano by the end of it.

The end of it. He was talking like he was about to _die _or some shit like that. He laughed softly, shaking his head.

"Are you alright?" Percival asked him, concerned. Jack nodded, grinning, and just watched out the window the rest of the way to this mysterious address. He paid the man and grabbed both his and Percival's bags – Percival was likely to forget it and Jack didn't want to have to track down that man.

The house they were standing in front of was an average-sized house, an off-white, and was probably home to an average family.

There was a screech from inside, then a shouted curse.

Okay.

Not the average family.

"They're in here," Percival said, walking quickly up to the door. Jack had to run to catch up.

"What? Who?" he asked. Percival looked up at him and smiled.

"Bill and Ralph!"

_Fuck fuck fuck if Bill has done ANYTHING with Ralph kill him Jacky KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER RALPH IS YOURS JACK RALPH IS YOURS _

Percival took his hand and tugged him closer to the door. "I know it's hard," he said. "But try to suppress it. We're here for a reason. You can't kill Bill. Besides, Bill and Ralph are in a sort of fight right now. I don't think they'll be even remotely couply."

Percival rang the doorbell, and someone ran down the stairs and threw the door open.

Standing before them was Bill Boudreau. He'd grown a lot since the island, and he'd gotten muscular as well. He stood barechested in front of them, with jeans slung low on his hips. There was a bit of bandage peeking out over top of them. For some inconceivable reason, he was wearing sunglasses.

Sunglasses and no shirt inside in December.

Really, Jack shouldn't be surprised by this. Bill had always been a little weird.

Bill looked closely at them, then took off his sunglasses and looked again. "Who…" he trailed off. Jack could tell he knew who they were. Or he at least had a guess.

"Jack Merridew," Jack said. Bill's gaze switched down to Percival. "That's Percival."

Bill nodded, but he still looked like he didn't trust them. _Why would he trust you Jacky you nearly ROASTED HIM ALIVE he was one of the last ones out of the fire don't you remember he nearly DIED because of YOU. _

"Why are you here? No offense, but this really isn't the best time," he said. When they didn't turn around and leave, he sighed. "Fine. Come on, Merridew."

The inside of the house was much warmer than outside – _of course it was Jacky, why the hell would Bill be shirtless if it wasn't – _and Jack welcomed this sudden warmth. It looked like Percival enjoyed this, too, because he smiled and stopped _shaking _so much.

"Who's here?" someone called, and then Ralph, skinny and pale and with bags under his eyes that rivaled what Roger had always had, appeared. He looked at Jack and obviously recognized him, because he turned even paler. "Oh great. You brought your savage friends to _kill _me."

"No- Ralph-"

Well. Something had happened between them. Jack couldn't help but feel a bit happy at this – if they weren't _together_ together anymore, he maybe wouldn't have to kill Bill _Jack get a hold on yourself you don't have to kill BILL he was one of your BEST FRIENDS and one of your MOST LOYAL SUBJECTS he did WHATEVER YOU ASKED with no QUESTION or ALTERCATIONS TO THE PLAN. _

"Sorry," Bill said, sighing. "Something… we ran into someone a few days ago. I just got out of the hospital."

"Roger?" Jack asked. It was a complete guess, but who else would (or _could_, from the looks of those muscles) put Bill in the hospital?

Bill looked a bit suspicious. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Just a guess," Jack said. He was doing well, conversing like a normal person, almost.

"He fucked everything up," Bill sighed. "Put me in the hospital for a few days, Ralph had to stay with my family, and not only that but he screwed things up between me and Ralph."

"How'd he manage to do that?" Jack asked. "I mean, if unless you pretended to be some other guy, wouldn't he _know_-"

"He forgot about me," Bill said. "He forgot that I'd been a… a choirboy. All he remembered was that I was on the island. And Roger… told him everything."

"So you lied to him," Jack said, nodding. Bill darkened a little. "Well, I guess you're just that forgettable you can tell people whatever you want and they'll never know the difference."

"Shut up," Bill said. "And get out. Why the hell are you here anyway?"

"We came to warn you," Percival said, speaking for the first time since they'd gotten here. "About Roger and Maurice."

"Maurice?" Bill looked confused for a moment, then shrugged. "They've already come after us. And neither of us died. I mean, Roger stabbed me, but it didn't hit anything vital."

"Take this seriously," Jack snapped. Bill made a face. "Roger managed to coerce Maurice into _killing his father._"

"Maurice's dad was a shitty dad anyway," Bill said. "Wouldn't take much to make Maurice want to kill that one."

"You're missing the point! They're going to come after you guys again and you're both going to _die_! I don't even know why I _care_ if you guys die, but here I am and you're just brushing it off like it's nothing!" Jack said, taking a step toward Bill, who raised an eyebrow. "Damn it, Bill, you can't just do this! You're going to end up killing him!"

"Why do you care?" Bill asked. "Last time I saw you, you were trying to hunt him down and put his head on a stick."

_But that's not true is it that was all Roger's idea right not your idea at all who are you kidding you were INSANE not like you aren't now of course but you didn't know what you were doing you were young and impressionable and hanging around people like Roger couldn't have done much for your mental stability it wasn't your fault nothing that happened there was your fault not Simon dying not Piggy dying none of it was your fault none of it was your fault not your fault not your fault it wasn't your fault_

"Jack," Percival tugged on his sleeve. It really was good to have him around. He could keep Jack sane when nobody else could.

He reminded Jack of Simon, in a way.

Hopefully he wouldn't die.

"I-" Jack cut himself off. "I didn't _mean_ to. I… he…"

"You were a fucked up kid. You wanted him dead because you couldn't have him," Bill said. "And now you probably want me dead, because I've gotten closer to him than you ever could-"

"You're not closer to him now, are you?" Jack interrupted, and Bill just looked at him, slightly pinkish. "Face it, Bill, the only way you were able to get him to like you was by lying to him. At least I never did that."

"Get out of here," Bill said. He fumbled for his sunglasses and put them back on, and Jack understood why he had them. They helped keep him calm; if he thought nobody could see what he was feeling he wouldn't show how he felt.

Also, they did make him look cool.

"Get out before-"

"Let them stay," Ralph said. He was back. "What's a few more savages? No offense, Percival, you were just a littleun. You didn't know better."

With that, he turned on his heel and left the room again.

…

Dinner was… awkward, to say the least. Bill had cooked. He wasn't very good, and Jack could barely recognize the food as food. Ralph was silent for the most part, picking at his food, sitting beside Percival. Jack had been stuck beside Bill.

"So," Bill said finally. "We could stick Jack and Percival in the living room-"

"I can share with Percival," Ralph said. "You can share with Jack."

"I don't want to share with him. I'll take the couch," Jack said. Ralph rolled his eyes. Bill looked relieved.

"Look, Ralph, I'm sorry-" Bill was trying to apologize again. Ralph, it seemed, was having none of it. It really was a miracle Bill was still living with Ralph, however those arrangements had happened in the first place.

"I'm going to bed," Ralph said, pushing away from the table and leaving the room. "If you two need to know where anything is, Bill will tell you."

* * *

**and here we go**

**i don't know how long they'll be around bill and ralph but **

**also to the guest reviewer who said they were worried about the bad guys winning, it only looks like that now. they'll have a major loss by the end of maurice's next chapter.**

**and also to emma i know percival's last name is spelled wrong, i screwed up earlier and just decided to keep it that way for continuity's sake**


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Jack

Jack was woken up by a scream.

He sat up quickly, the thin blanket falling to the floor, and sprinted up the stairs. He hadn't known who'd screamed, but he'd put money on Ralph, and _Ralph _had been sharing with Percival and he had a_ bad feeling about this Jack this is why you don't care about people this is why this is why_

He ran into Bill on his way to Ralph's room. Bill shoved him aside without a second glance and flung open the door.

Ralph stood near the window, looking like he was about to faint or throw up, one of the two. Bill gagged and ran for the bathroom. Jack could hear him throwing up. Suddenly Jack was scared to move his eyes from Ralph's face, scared to look at what was procuring that odd smell.

He managed to at last. It was Percival, of course. It had to be Percival. Who else could it be? Nobody else had been up here. Nobody else had been in this room, except… except the ones who had killed him, of course. Nobody could do that to _themselves_.

With shaky legs, Jack stepped toward Percival's dead, mutilated body. His throat had been cut – probably the cause of death; whoever had killed him (_oh who are you kidding Jack you know who it was) _hadn't wanted to wake Ralph or the others for some reason. His mouth had been cut into a permanent smile, his eyes were closed, but looked empty; like there was nothing under the eyelids. Jack shuddered.

Internal organs were piled neatly at the foot of the bed, like time had been taken to dissect Percival. Jack swallowed down last night's supper that threatened to come up.

Ralph took off, and then it was just Jack and the dead Percival in the room.

He looked at the window. That's how they'd gotten in; it was cranked open a crack. There was writing on it too, in a substance that looked suspiciously like Percival's blood.

_Youre next, Ralphie. _

And then a smiley face.

Jack sprinted for the bathroom, shoving Bill, who was just leaving, out of the way and barely making the toilet in time. "I'm going to call the police," Bill said, voice hoarse. "If you wanna… I don't know… hide in a closet or something, feel free to do so."

Jack nodded weakly, pushing himself to his feet. He staggered out of the bathroom and got himself a glass of water to wash the taste out of his mouth. Bill entered the kitchen as well to get to the telephone. Once Bill had finished giving the police his address and hung up, Ralph came seemingly out of nowhere and stuck himself to Bill. Bill petted his head as Ralph sobbed into his shirt.

"Should I… go…?" Jack asked. Bill nodded, reaching for his sunglasses and putting them on. He seemed to calm down after he got them on his face, and Jack went to look for a suitable closet. He eventually found one just off of the kitchen, a pantry of sorts. He crouched in the dark, waiting, and his legs went numb before Bill knocked on the closet door to let him know it was okay to come out.

"There are still a few people in the room," Bill said. "We're heading out. Ralph figured we shouldn't just leave you in this closet, so do you want to come with us?"

Jack could tell Bill didn't want him to come.

Jack didn't give a damn what Bill wanted and didn't want.

He got up, brushing dirt off of his pants – they really needed to learn how to clean, _Jesus Christ, _this place was filthy – and followed Bill and Ralph out the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out.

It was probably the most awkward thing that Jack had ever done.

_Fuck, _why wouldn't someone talk?

_It's because they don't want you here. They could be having so much fun right now, if you and your STUPID LITTLE FRIEND hadn't shown up and he HADN'T GOTTEN MURDERED, they could be talking or laughing or FUCKING EACH OTHERS' BRAINS OUT you know they would YOU KNOW THAT THEY WOULD don't try and pretend different and really who can blame Bill? You certainly can't. You want to be in his position right now. Right next to Ralph. Right next to Ralph so that RALPH can be YOURS. _

_All you have to do is get rid of Bill. That's all._

But he wasn't going to do that.

He was going to be _sane, _goddammit! He wasn't going to be like Roger, he was going to be sane and perfectly fine and yep p_erfectly _fine.

"You okay?" Bill asked, looking over his shoulder. Jack stumbled over the uneven sidewalk and nodded, averting his eyes to the ground. Bill snorted and kept walking. Jack was walking behind the two blonds, noticing how they kept a careful distance. Well, of course they were. It wasn't exactly socially acceptable to be… like them.

The police car passed them, and the events of the morning suddenly came crashing down on Jack. He took a deep breath and hugged his arms close to him. Oh _God, _the blood had been horrible, the _mutilation _had been horrible, it had _all been so goddam horrible, _almost worse than _Simon_, at least Percival had had a quicker death, right? His death hadn't been barely sharpened sticks beating their way into his skin? Right?

Right…

Right.

And this one _wasn't his fault. _Nope. He was completely blameless in this one. It wasn't… it wasn't his fault that Percival had wanted to come here – yes! Percival had _wanted _to come here. It was Percival's fault. Percival's fault. Yep. He didn't have anything to do with this. Really… it was Ralph's fault. For leaving his windows unlocked. Who the hell left their windows unlocked? Sure, there wasn't much to steal in that pitiful house, but still! Jack felt a sudden rush of hate toward Ralph, and had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from attacking and killing him right there.

Maybe it wasn't Bill he needed to kill.

Maybe it was Ralph.

Or maybe he should be safe and get both of them.

* * *

**and here we go**


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Bill

They'd _finally_ gotten Jack out of the house; apparently he was staying for a while, Bill didn't know, all he knew was that Jack was out looking for things and Ralph was okay with him again and they were alone. It was basically a fantastic situation.

Except for the fact that Jack could walk back in at any second.

But Bill wasn't going to think about that.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, looking awkwardly at each other. They'd ended up wandering around a lot yesterday, waiting for the police to get out of their house – even now, Ralph's room was blocked off – but they hadn't really been able to talk to each other because of Jack. Bill cleared his throat.

"So," he said. "I'm sorry. For not telling you about the…"

"The fact that you tried to murder me?" Ralph asked. Bill darkened.

"Yeah," he said. "That. I just figured that it… it didn't matter anymore, you know? It was five _years_ ago, and since you didn't remember straight off…"

"You tried to murder me. That's kind of a big deal." Oh no. Ralph was starting to freak out. Bill was going to screw this up and Ralph was finally okay with him. Damn it. "It's not just something you forget. It's something you have years of nightmares about. It's something that causes you not to trust _anyone_, ever again. And then you came along and you were_ so fucking perfect and I went with it and it turned out you were one of the guys that tried to kill me!"_

Ralph was yelling now. Bill didn't know what to do. "No, Ralph-" Ralph turned on him, and Bill swallowed. "Look, I- I'm sorr-"

"_It doesn't matter if you're sorry or not!" _Ralph swept everything off of their coffee table and onto the floor. Bill was glad there wasn't anything breakable on it. "_It doesn't matter because you tried to KILL me! DOESN'T THAT MAKE YOU A BAD PERSON? BAD PEOPLE KILL OTHER PEOPLE. THAT'S HOW IT WORKS, BILL. YOU'RE JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHER FUCKING SAVAGES. YOU GAINED MY TRUST AND SUDDENLY JACK SHOWS UP AND THEN IT TURNS OUT ROGER AND POSSIBLY MAURICE SNUCK INTO MY ROOM TO MURDER THAT STUPID LITTLEUN!"_

Bill was taken aback. "Um," he said.

Ralph grabbed onto the front of his shirt. "Shut up! Don't even try to defend yourself! You know it's your fault! It's all your fault!"

"How is it my fault?" Bill asked softly, trying to keep cool. He placed his hands over Ralph's, trying to stop shaking. Ralph really was angry.

"Why weren't you chief? I _asked."_

…

_Five Years Earlier, on The Island_

"Bill? Can I talk to you?"

Bill glanced up from his game of 'avoid littleuns because they're the most annoying things on the planet and don't stop crying' with Robert. Ralph stood in front of him. Weirdly enough, he looked almost… nervous. Bill didn't know why someone like Ralph would be nervous.

"Okay," Bill said, shrugging and leaving Robert alone. The two walked alone in the trees for a while. Bill noticed that he was now a bit taller than Bill. He'd passed Maurice a while back, and was catching up with Jack as well. He did like this 'growing' thing.

"I don't think I'm a good chief," Ralph admitted. Bill blinked.

"You're a good chief… don't tell Jack I said that, though," Bill grinned. "He gets mad whenever you're mentioned."

"Jack doesn't like me," Ralph muttered. "Neither does Roger, I think."

"Roger doesn't like anyone," Bill said, rolling his eyes. "And what does it matter if Jack likes you or not? He's stupid, anyway. And his voice is changing, so he can't even sing high c anymore."

This caused Ralph to laugh, and Bill was happy that he was able to make Ralph laugh. "But… you're older, right? I mean…"

"I'm thirteen, yeah," Bill said, shifting from foot to foot.

"Will you be chief?" Ralph asked, grabbing onto Bill's hand with both of his. Bill turned bright red. "Please? I think that… that if I keep doing this much longer Jack will try to take over, and I don't think he'd be a good chief."

"Sorry," Bill said, pulling away and walking away through the trees. "You've got the wrong guy. I could never be chief. Ask someone else."

…

_Present Day_

It seemed that Ralph was remembering more about life on The Island. Bill wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Why didn't you?" Ralph asked.

"I would've made a horrible chief," Bill said, wondering if it was too soon to kiss Ralph and then deciding that he was just going to go for it anyway. He put a hand on the back of Ralph's neck and reached up to kiss him. He tried to be as soft and gentle as he could; he didn't want Ralph flipping out. Ralph's hands tightened briefly, but then he relaxed and sunk down, letting his knees rest on the floor. Bill had to bend down a bit to keep in contact with him.

Ralph broke away from him. "You would've made a better chief than I ever was," he said. He looked like he was going to cry, but didn't want to. "I screwed everything up."

"No," Bill said. He felt awkward; not only was their positioning awkward, but he didn't know how to handle Ralph when he was like this. "You did the best you could. We were just kids. We didn't really know what we were doing. It all just got out of hand."

Ralph stood up, grabbing Bill's hand and pulling him up, too. They stood, face to face, Ralph searching Bill's face for _something_ that Bill probably didn't have.

Eventually, Ralph took off Bill's sunglasses and threw them on the couch. Bill stared, wide-eyed, at Ralph. Ralph managed a sort-of smile.

"I want to kiss you," he said. "But that's wrong."

"It's not wrong," Bill said. "I want to kiss you, too."

"Then what's stopping us?" Ralph said. "We'll go up to your room, and lock the door in case Jack comes back early. We'll get over this stupid 'you tried to murder me thing', because it's just stupid. And we'll do whatever the fuck we want because we're young and don't care what anyone else thinks. We'll be _happy _and _together _and we'll never think about R-roger or Maurice or anyone else ever again. Once we finish up school we'll move somewhere else where nobody knows us or any of this whole deal and we'll be _happy. Happy."_

"Sure," Bill said, aware that he was throwing his life away for this fucked-up, skinny, teenage boy. He didn't particularly care.

They went up to their room and, true to Ralph's word, locked the door. As soon as Bill turned around from locking the door, Ralph pulled him close and kissed him, pulling him onto the bed.

Well.

Ralph wasn't wasting any time.

The first kiss was long, and sweet, and _beautiful_, but then Ralph picked up the pace and kissed Bill's lips and jaw and neck and _wow_, he _was _good at this. Bill tried to return the favor as much as he could, and soon they were moving quickly, trying to please the other as well as they could, their legs tangled and shirts off and Bill's jeans were looking like they were going to join them soon.

Ralph was taking control of this one, kissing him and nipping at his skin and Bill would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy this.

Someone knocked on the door.

Ralph paused.

"Fuck off!" Bill yelled. "Jack, I know it's you!"

"Fine," Jack muttered, and they heard his footsteps walk away. Ralph turned his attention back to Bill, kissing him on the lips; a deeper kiss than they'd ever had before, mouths open, Ralph's tongue sliding into Bill's mouth while his hands worked at undoing his jean button. Bill's hands tangled in Ralph's hair and he barely held back a moan when Ralph pushed his jeans down and stuck his hand into Bill's underwear.

"Shit," Bill hissed. "Shit, shit, _shit."_

Ralph worked between Bill's legs with his hand while Bill tried very hard not to lose control over himself.

Control was overrated, anyway.

* * *

**i don't know how I feel about this chapter but it's been a while hi**


	20. Chapter Twenty: Bill

Like always, Bill waited outside Ralph's last class for him. He'd taken to leaving early; his teacher didn't particularly care, anyway. If Jack had done what he said he would do, they'd go home to a clean house and possibly some food.

At least Jack had one use.

Bill still wasn't quite sure why Jack was staying with them, sleeping on the couch and slipping into the pantry when police came over to investigate the murder of Madison, Percival Wymes. He'd made them dinner last night, even though they'd yelled at him to leave them alone. He wasn't the best cook, but maybe if they kept him around he'd get better with time. He was sure as hell better than Bill at that sort of thing.

The door opened and students came pouring out of the classroom. Bill took a step back as to not get run over, checking the crowd for Ralph, jumping when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?"

He turned around to see the girl that had helped get him to the hospital. She was younger than she'd seemed when he was lying on the ground, in pain, a knife sticking into him. Of course, your perception had to be skewed in that situation. "Yeah," he said. "Stitches are getting taken out in a few days."

"That's good," she said. "Are you waiting for your friend?"

Bill nodded, glancing back. The rush of students had slowed down to a trickle. Ralph was always one of the last ones out of the room, preferring not to rush for the door… and there he was. Ralph looked around, eventually seeing Bill and hurrying over. "Who's this?" he asked.

"I… don't actually know. Who are you?" Bill asked, and the girl grinned a little.

"Theresa," she said, and Bill turned back to Ralph.

"Theresa."

Ralph rolled his eyes. "We should probably head home," he said. "Jack's going to be freaking out."

"He should get over it. It's not even his _house_," Bill said. Theresa looked between them, an interested expression on her face. "I think we should stop and get a quick snack. I still have to thank you for helping me out there."

"It's what any normal human would do," Theresa said, shrugging. "I just happened to be going for a walk, that's all. It's a little weird, though; I could've sworn I saw Maurice Machintire. My best friend used to date him. He went to a different school, but she said that six months ago he started getting really… weird… and was the guy that stabbed you Roger Dressler? The guy that escaped from the insane asylum?"

"Um," Bill said. "Yeah."

"I thought so!" Theresa said, her eyes lighting up like she'd just learned she'd won a thousand dollars. "I know _everything _there is to know about that story. Like, a few days ago, someone snuck into a house and murdered a little kid. The police don't know who it was, but they suspect Dressler and Machintire and they haven't disclosed the address of the house but-"

"That's our house," Bill said, wishing that she'd stop talking about this. Ralph was looking increasingly more uncomfortable with every word. "But it's kind of a tender subject; Ralph was kind of in the room when they were doing-"

"What? Really? Why are they after you guys so much?" Theresa asked. She looked at Ralph. "Sorry. I mean, you don't have to keep talking about this stuff. I can leave-"

"No, I'll go home. Bill, you can tell her about it if you want," Ralph said.

"Want me to drive you?" Bill offered. Ralph shook his head.

"No, it's nice out. I'll walk. You drive Theresa wherever and then take her home," he said. Bill nodded slowly, wondering what exactly was up with Ralph. "See you later."

With that, Ralph headed down the hallway, disappearing into a crowd of students. Bill turned back to Theresa.

"Well," he said. "Want to hear about this?"

…

"So that thing that happened with the kids getting stranded on the island has stuff to do with it?" Theresa asked, eyes wide. "I can't believe I didn't think of that! Of course! Dressler was on the island; that's why he was in the asylum in the first place. And so was Machintire… you and Ralph were too, weren't you? That's why he's come after you?"

"Yeah," Bill said, nodding. "So was the kid that got killed. I think he's trying to get rid of all the guys that were on the island."

"Then the Jack you were talking about wouldn't be Jack _Merridew_, would it?" she asked. "The one that's gone missing? His parents have offered a huge reward for him. They say he's 'not ready' for the outside world yet."

"That's bullshit," Bill said, rolling his eyes. "Sure, he's a little screwed up in the head, but not only is he eighteen, he's been staying with me and Ralph for a couple of days and hasn't tried to kill us once. Well, unless you count his cooking. Nearly burned the house down."

Theresa nodded slowly. Bill could tell she was thinking up a plan that would probably screw up the nice little life that was starting up. "Could you take me home now?" she asked.

"Sure," Bill said and, after getting lost a few times, took her home. "'Bye."

"Good-bye! I'll see you tomorrow!" she said, practically skipping into her house. Bill rolled his eyes and drove home.

As expected, it was extremely awkward in the house. Jack was cooking. Ralph was sitting in the living room, half-heartedly working on homework. Bill sat down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"What're you working on?" he asked. Ralph looked at him.

"Something stupid," he said.

"Wanna go do something more fun?"

"Yes."

Bill pulled Ralph away from his homework and yelled at Jack to stay downstairs. This was met with a loud crash and cursing. Bill decided to ignore it.

He barely had time to lock the door before Ralph grabbed onto his shirt and kissed him. Bill kissed him back, sinking into the pleasant feeling that kissing Ralph always brought him. They broke for air. Bill sat down on the bed, debating undoing his school tie. Ralph had changed out of his school clothes and looked far more comfortable. Bill hated the dress code their school insisted on keeping.

Ralph sat down next to him, watching him, and Bill leaned over and kissed him, tipping him back onto the bed. Ralph made a small, surprised sound at the back of his throat but responded nicely, scooting himself over so that he wasn't in danger of falling and tugging at Bill's tie.

He knew he should've taken it off.

He moved down from Ralph's mouth, kissing his neck and pulling down his shirt to kiss his collarbone. Ralph helped out with this, slipping out of his shirt one arm at a time – it really was a good thing that this shirt was too big for him; otherwise they would've had to stop so that he could get it off.

Ralph used Bill's tie to guide him back up to Ralph's mouth and they kissed again, Ralph nipping at Bill's lower lip and Bill trying very hard not to freak out.

"Hey! Police are here!"

Jack really had the worst timing.

* * *

**i'm sorry for ending it like that**


	21. Chapter Twenty-one: Bill

When Bill woke up, Ralph was gone.

Ever since the whole Percival incident, they'd started sleeping in the same bed again, like they had before Bill had been stabbed. Ralph seemed to be sort of okay with the fact that Bill had been a savage now, or maybe he'd realized that Bill had changed now. He wasn't a stupid little kid that wanted to play savages anymore. He was an eighteen year old guy that wanted to finish up his school and get a decent job. He was possibly the least screwed-up from the island.

And, currently, he was wondering where the hell Ralph was.

He got up, stopping to run a hand over his stitches. It hadn't actually been that serious of a cut; he'd taken off the bandage a few days ago and the stitches were being taken out on Saturday. It could've been a lot worse. Roger could've killed him, or hurt him enough that he'd have to stay in the hospital for more than the time it took to get the knife out and the stitches in.

He headed downstairs, noticing that there were an awfully lot of cars outside his family's house. Police cars, most of them.

Oh God, what had happened?

He could see Ralph and Jack outside, talking to some policemen. Hm, Jack had come out? Well, maybe this policeman didn't recognize him. Maybe he was far enough away from home that it didn't matter… where did he live nowadays, anyway? Had he moved? Bill remembered going to a birthday party at Jack's house seven or eight years ago, all of the choir had been invited, but he couldn't really remember if Jack's parents had moved him away after The Island or not.

Bill rushed outside, not caring that he was in his underwear. "What happened?" he asked, and the policeman turned from Jack and Ralph to face him.

"Are you Bill Boudreau?" he asked. Bill nodded, a feeling of dread starting to grow in his stomach. Oh, oh, oh, there was an ambulance. Oh God. "You're family's dead."

"What?" Bill asked, glancing at Ralph and Jack. Neither of them met his eyes, and he looked back at the policeman. "You're joking. You have to be joking. They're not dead. They're just inside, and if I go in they'll be right there."

"No- hold up, don't-" Bill ignored the policeman and ducked his way through the crowd, pushing his way past policemen and everyone else, shoving his way into the house.

The first thing he saw was the blood.

The blood was everywhere, along with policemen, investigators. There was a body on the stairs. The smell was overwhelming.

Bill had a good idea who the body was, but he didn't want to get closer. He swallowed, then suddenly and violently threw up, leaning on the wall for support. He had to see who the body was. Which one of them it was. He couldn't tell; it was too far away and tears were blurring his vision and there was nothing but the red, red and blood and _death_. He climbed the stairs one at a time, legs shaking, ignoring the people calling after him.

The body on the stairs was his father. He'd been sleeping; Bill could tell, he must have been sleeping and then gotten up to do something, maybe investigate a strange noise, like someone breaking in? He was wearing his underwear and robe. His robe was open; he'd been stabbed multiple times in the chest and face and his eyes were gone, his _eyes _were gone.

Bill threw up again. But he had to keep going. He had to see if they were all dead, or if it was just his father. His mother had to be alive. Cecelia had to be alive. It had just been his father. Everyone else was alive. They had to be.

He looked in his room first, out of curiosity. Just to see… just to see if there was anything in there, like they'd left for Ralph.

Nothing.

Okay. That was good. They hadn't taken the time to leave him anything, so they must have been in a hurry, so maybe his mother and Cecelia were alright.

He could hear policemen running up the stairs. Probably to get him. He had to hurry.

He tried the next door. Bathroom. Nothing. Cecelia's room. Her blankets were mussed. She wasn't there. There was no blood, though; was she okay? Maybe she was sitting in the ambulence for… for shock. Yes, they did that, right? They put you in the ambulance so that they could check up on you because you'd gone through a traumatic experience?

"Come out of the house with us, Bill," one of the policemen said. "There's no good in you being here."

"I have to check," Bill said, moving along the hallway to check the next room. Someone grabbed him by the arms and tried to drag him backward. Bill struggled, pulling his way forward, and soon more hands joined the first one and they dragged him out of the house, struggling and tears still leaking out of his eyes because his father was _dead_, if not his entire family.

They steered him back to the other house and Ralph provided a blanket, which was wrapped around his shoulders. "They're all dead, aren't they?" Bill asked. He sounded empty. He felt empty. "All of them."

"Cecelia has been taken to the hospital," one of the policemen said. "She has sustained life-threatening injuries but we are very positive about her recovery."

Bill stared at his knees, not saying anything. Why? Why did they have to go after his _family,_ for Chrissake? Couldn't they stop?

Ever since Jack had showed up it had been-

Jack.

It was all Jack's fault.

Jack had drawn them here; of course he had, Jack had never been a good person and Bill was an idiot for thinking that he would start now.

Bill stood up, startling the policemen. "Where's Jack?" he asked. Nobody answered him. "Where is he?"

"He's in the kitchen," Ralph said, and Bill left the living room to go find the bastard.

Jack was indeed in the kitchen, cooking something. Bill spun him around and shoved him against the counter. "Why the hell did you do that?" he shouted. Jack looked terrified. Bill didn't care. "You… you _fucking led them here, didn't you? You were with them all along! I know it!"_

"I- no, Bill, I-" Bill didn't let him finish. He hit him in the face. Jack raised up an arm in a pathetic defense, and Bill tightened his grip on Jack's collar.

"Don't try to defend yourself! You did, and you know it! You brought that stupid littleun here, that night he's dead! We get a break because, oh, look, you're willing to _cook _for us and _clean _and oh, you must be a great person and then _my entire fucking family is dead, Jack! They're all dead and it's your fault!"_

And then Bill was being pulled off of him. He struggled, kicked and caught Jack in the shin, kicked and struggled and was then again seated on the couch, the blanket around his shoulders again, Ralph sitting beside him, holding onto his arm so that he didn't get up and'freak out' again.

He wasn't freaking out. He was trying to get them to see… trying to get them to see that it was Jack's fault.

Jack appeared in front of him.

"Get out," Bill said. Jack blinked.

"What-"

"You heard me. Get out," Bill glared at him, wanting more than ever to stand up and throttle him. "I never want to see your stupid face again. You're working with them, go join them."

Jack swallowed and, after brief hesitation, grabbed his coat and took off.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze – the policemen asked him questions ("What do you mean, he was working with them? With who?" and "How can you be so sure that it was Roger and Maurice that killed them?" and "Why have you been living here?"), but eventually they were gone and it was just Bill and Ralph. Bill laid down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

He couldn't believe this was happening.

It couldn't get any worse than this.

* * *

**well bill by the end of next chapter you'll be having to deal with a lot more stuff so yes it can get worse than that**

**but uh yeah**

**next chapter might take a while for me to get up because lots of stuff happens and i'm not completely sure how to write it really?**


	22. Chapter Twenty-two: Maurice

"We're going after them _again?" _Maurice asked, nearly dropping his sandwich. He'd stolen it from a schoolchild on his way to school. Maurice and Roger were sitting on a park bench, shivering and eating stolen sandwiches. They sat close to each other for warmth – ever since that… that night in the guest bedroom it had been different between them. They hadn't done anything but brief kisses in dark alleys since. Of course, they'd just had a lucky break with that one. They'd woken up early and, despite soreness in certain areas, Maurice had followed Roger, sprinting away while the owner of the house drove back into the driveway.

"Yes," Roger said. He had the look of a maniac – of course, he was a maniac. An actual psychopath. "I need to get rid of them."

"And then the other ones, right?" Maurice asked. "Johnny and Samneric and them?"

"Samneric after Bill and Ralph," Roger said, nodding. "I want them to watch each other get tortured. You will need to help a lot with that one."

Maurice managed a smile. "Great," he said. He didn't actually enjoy brutally murdering people. He wasn't psycho. But he did… he did like being around Roger, and he would do anything if it meant that he could be with Roger. He may not have liked holding Bill's father down while Roger had stabbed him, but he had liked how Roger had looked doing it. He had liked the insane light in Roger's eyes, the way he wiped the blood off on Maurice's shirt before using the knife to get rid of the man's eyeballs, which he kept in a pouch in his pocket. Roger was very protective over this pouch – in it were not only Bill's father's eyes, but the eyes of Bill's mother and one of Cecelia Boudreau's eyes. Roger had wanted to take hers out while she was still alive. The police had shown up before he could finish.

"But first, Bill and Ralph. Tonight," Roger said. "Bill will be weak. Ralph has always been weak."

"Want me to take Bill?" Maurice suggested. "You can focus on Ralph."

"_Can _you take Bill? I don't want him bursting in when I'm not finished with Ralph," Roger said, looking at Maurice skeptically. Maurice was insulted.

"Of course I can take Bill!" he said. "I can take you, can't I?"

Roger's mouth tightened into a thin line then, and he very carefully placed the pouch underneath the park bench and laid his coat over it. Then he lunged at Maurice, shoving him off the bench and onto the cold ground. Maurice gasped as his back hit the ground, but, as immoral as Roger was, the fact of the matter was that Maurice was stronger. Bigger. Faster.

He shoved Roger off of him and hooked his legs around Roger's. He held down his legs and waited while Roger struggled and hit him and cursed. "Fine!" Roger said after a few more minutes. "You can! Damn it Maurice, let me go!"

Maurice did and Roger retrieved his pouch and coat, glaring and cursing all the while. "Let's just fucking go," Roger muttered, and Maurice grinned.

The next few hours were spent staking out Bill and Ralph's house. They'd seen Jack hurry away yesterday and he hadn't come back, so Maurice figured they were safe on that aspect. Besides, Jack would probably side with them anyway. He had been the Chief, after all.

Eventually, night fell and the two crept toward the door. Maurice picked the lock – of course they'd lock their door after what Maurice and Roger had done to Mr. and Mrs. Boudreau last night. Roger seemed to have no sense of being quiet and not getting caught and threw the door open with a gusto that Maurice didn't know he could possess.

"Shh!" Maurice hissed. Roger hit him. "Ow, Roger!"

"You shh," Roger said. Maurice rolled his eyes and shut the door.

Bill was standing at the top of the stairs. He was holding both a gun and the knife that Roger had stuck in his hip. Wow, that knife really was getting around, wasn't it? "Get out of here," Bill said. His voice was shaking, and so were his hands that held his weapons. "Or I will shoot."

Roger was up the stairs faster than Maurice could see. He wrenched the gun away from Bill and threw it down the stairs, narrowly missing Maurice's face. "I'll take him!" Maurice said, following Roger up the stairs and ramming into Bill's legs. Bill, who had been standing still, frozen with fear, Maurice supposed, toppled over. Roger nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

Bill recovered and stood up, grabbing Maurice by the shirt collar and slamming him into a wall. "What the hell are you doing?" he yelled. "Do you want to be sent to a fucking asylum like your psycho friend? Is that your life goal, Maurice?"

"You don't know anything about this," Maurice said, twisting and kicking out. Bill was having none of it. He kneed Maurice in the stomach, driving the breath out of him and letting him go. Maurice collapsed, gasping for air, then grabbed Bill's legs and drove him down the stairs.

But he'd forgotten about the knife.

Somewhere along their fall down the stairs Bill had managed to put himself on top of Maurice, and somewhere along their fall down the stairs the knife had manage to sink up to the hilt in Maurice's stomach.

They landed at the bottom of the stairs, both of them staring at the knife. The pain hadn't hit Maurice yet; the fact that he was going to _die _hadn't hit him yet. They were just there, staring at the knife. Bill looked like he was about to throw up, or cry, or both.

"Fuck," Bill said, swallowing. "I didn't. I didn't mean to. It was. I. I'm- Maurice, I'm sorry."

He was freaking out more than Maurice was. Of course, the world seemed to be moving slowly. Bill was pale and shaking and crying now. Maurice tore his shirt away from the knife and looked almost curiously at the blade sticking into his skin.

And then everything hit him at once. The pain, the fear, the tears. Maurice shrieked, and coughed, and when he coughed there was blood, and there was _blood_, blood _everywhere and oh Christ he was going to die he was going to die who the fuck was going to help Roger now? Oh no Roger, Roger was going to be all alone, he was going to be all alone and Maurice was going to be… Maurice was going to be dead he was going to Hell he was going to go to Hell and fuck he wouldn't stop coughing and it _hurt _it hurt to move and to cough and to breathe Christ Christ Christ Christ Christ no, no, no, no no nooo_

He heard Roger scream his name and, though the slowly fading world, saw him fly down the stairs. That was funny. He didn't remember Roger knowing how to fly – oh, there he went, tripping and rolling the rest of the way. He didn't know where Bill had gone. Probably to freak out about the fact that he'd just killed Maurice, basically.

"Maurice? Maurice. Maurice. Say something. Maurice." Roger had picked himself up and was kneeling by Maurice's head. Maurice felt himself smile and was glad that he still could. Roger _cared_. He'd known that Roger cared, deep down, but he hadn't had any proof until now. It was nice.

He coughed again and tasted more blood. This really was the end, wasn't it? From what he could see, Roger was freaking out.

Roger kissed him, and Maurice was happier still. Was it normal, to be feeling such happiness in your time of dying? It was the only time Roger would show how he felt, really. Roger didn't feel much, but what he did feel was something real, something raw, something beautifully destructive and something Maurice loved.

"Thank…" Oh, talking hurt, but he had to get this out. And then he could die. Keep holding on, Maurice, you can die after this. "Thank you, Roger. I… I think I l…"

…

Roger stared down in disbelief. He was dead. Gone. Murdered. He'd managed to die in the middle of a sentence, too, the insensitive bastard. What was he even trying to say? I think I love you? What the hell, Maurice. There wasn't any love between them. It was a partnership. The only reason Roger didn't like Maurice dying was because he'd have to find a new partner.

And yet…

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to miss Maurice and his stupid chain, Maurice and his willingness to do anything, Maurice who would let Roger fuck him. Maurice who _liked _it when Roger was rough.

There was only thing left to do.

_Take them._

No, not yet. He had to get out of this house first. Bill could be calling the police. Ralph could be calling the police. He had to get Maurice out of here. Then he would take them. And burn the body. A Viking funeral. A Viking funeral for Maurice.

He picked Maurice up and, with some difficulty, maneuvered him out the door and down the street. Thankfully it was dark. They would have been suspicious-looking otherwise.

He made it all the way to the park where he'd stabbed Bill before he dropped Maurice, panting. He kneeled back beside Maurice's head and took the knife out of Maurice's stomach. It was soaked with blood and other things that Roger did not want to think about.

He carefully peeled back the eyelid and popped out the eyeball, cutting what connected it to the brain and Maurice twitched.

He was alive.

Roger pressed his lips to Maurice's. "You're going to die," he whispered. "I'm just taking what I need to."

He felt Maurice shudder and then felt for a pulse. Maurice was dead. He'd just had a little more time before he actually died, that was all.

Roger took the eyes and put them in a different pouch. A special pouch. Maurice got his own pouch. Maurice was different, Maurice was special. Maurice had been something that he hadn't wanted to leave, at least for a while, therefore Maurice got his own pouch.

Once he'd taken the eyes, he cleared a spot for the body and piled sticks on top of Maurice's body. The match wouldn't light. He took some garbage out of a garbage can and added that, and then the body lit.

There.

There was Maurice's Viking funeral.

* * *

**And this is the part that I didn't know if I could write effectively but I think I managed it well enough?**

**Also, to Thinkerthehobbit – your comments weren't stupid and idiotic! It did seem like the villains were winning, but I can't make it too easy for Bill and Ralph. Where would be the fun in that?**

**And thank you to 100reasonswhy for my 50****th**** review! This story's gone a lot further than I originally thought it had. **

**Also, I've gone back to the schedule thing – every Monday a new chapter should be up. Maurice's POV will now be replaced by Roger's. **


	23. Chapter Twenty-three: Roger

When Roger woke up he instinctively reached for Maurice and remembered that he wasn't there. For a moment he just laid there, shivering, mulling over his current predicament. He had slept in a church – not the one that he'd smashed bottles of communion wine in, though he was feeling the urge to smash communion wine in this one, too – and he was cold. If Maurice was here Maurice would be warm, but Maurice wasn't here and Roger didn't regret burning the body, because what was he going to do with a corpse? He liked to have his trophies, but he couldn't drag around a bunch of dead people. That was why he had the eyes.

Maurice's eyes were less of a trophy, though. They were more of a reminder. A reminder that Roger had had someone who could tolerate him. More than tolerate him. Maurice liked him. And that was why Maurice's eyes had their own space. Keeping Maurice's eyes had kept Maurice with him. Maurice was still there. He wasn't warm. Roger couldn't touch him. But he was there. Roger could see him and hear him.

"We're going to get Samneric next," he said. Maurice nodded. Maurice had been a lot quieter since he'd died. He did speak sometimes. Just not all the time like he'd used to. Roger liked this. Maurice had talked far too much. "You can't touch them."

"Right," Maurice said. Roger chewed on his thumbnail. With Maurice dead getting Samneric out of the picture would be more difficult. He would have to take them out of their house. He knew that. They had parents and the parents would jump in. He could tie them up. That might work.

"Tying them up would work," Roger muttered around his thumbnail.

"Yes," Maurice said. Most of what Maurice said nowadays was affirmatives. Yes. Right. Yep. Yeah. Okay. That was nice. Roger didn't like it when people disagreed with him. Especially people that he couldn't hit when they disagreed with him. Sometimes Maurice asked questions. Sometimes Maurice assured him that he was right and not insane. Maurice was better moral support now than he had been when he was alive.

"They're in school right now," Roger said. "We should leave."

"Good idea," Maurice said. He grinned. Sometimes he did that too. Roger was conflicted on how he felt about this. He didn't like it when Maurice smiled because it made him feel funny. He did like it though because he felt funny, and that funny feeling felt good. He sort of missed the Maurice that he could touch. "Don't smash the bottles of communion wine."

"Shut up, Maurice," Roger said. Maurice smiled again. Nostalgia was the feeling perhaps. Nostalgia about The Island because Maurice hadn't smiled like that very much since The Island. But on The Island he had smiled all the time. It had annoyed Roger back then but now he sort of missed The Island Maurice. The Island Maurice probably wouldn't have let Roger fuck him though. Mostly because he had been eleven and Maurice had been about nine. But also because The Island Maurice was more pure. Nicer. Brighter.

"Just saying," Maurice said. Roger debated going to smash the communion wine anyway. Mostly because Maurice had told him not to. But then he looked at his (Maurice's) bag and decided that he had better get going. He didn't want to be found. It would be an incredible irritant if he was. So he left, gathering everything up and walking out a back door. He walked for a long time, ignoring the pangs of hunger shooting through his stomach. He could eat after he killed Samneric. Maybe. Maurice had always taken care of the food.

Of course, it would be a while before Samneric came back from school.

Unless…

Unless he took one of them and left a note for the other. "What do you think Maurice?" Roger asked, ignoring odd looks from the early-rising citizens. "Do you think I should go the hostage route?"

"I think you should stop talking to me in public," Maurice said. "But I think that would work. You still have the chain?"

"Yes," Roger said. The chain. He had a love-hate relationship with the chain. He hated it when Maurice used it to keep him places. He loved thinking of ways he could use it to torture or confine or injure people.

"Do you know where they go to school?" Maurice asked. "I know we found it once, but do you remember-"

"I'm not stupid," Roger snapped, earning several more queer looks. He ignored them. These people didn't matter. It was inconsequential what happened to them. They were just side characters in his life. They weren't real.

Nothing was real. Apart from him and Maurice and the pain he inflicted on the non-real characters, the ones that were awfully good at pretending to be real. Perhaps the ones that had been on The Island were real. Perhaps it was just them that were real.

Or maybe nobody was real. Not even him.

But this was a stupid thing that he shouldn't be thinking about.

Once he got to the school he realized that there was nobody there. It was Friday, right? But what date? Was it Christmas break already? He would have to find their house. Or perhaps they had gone out to celebrate no school by going out for some food or sodas. He would have to check their home first.

"Where do they live?" he asked Maurice as he leaned against the side of the school. Maurice looked like he was thinking. "You don't know."

"Not a clue!" Maurice said brightly. "But maybe you can break into the school and look through the files! Break some windows!"

This dead Maurice often spoke with many exclamation marks. Roger wasn't sure why. Perhaps because Maurice had been so bright and happy for the most part. But he was right. Roger was going to break some windows.

Roger would be lying if he said that he wasn't looking forward to this. He loved breaking things. School windows would be almost as good as the communion wine. He searched for a few suitable rocks, picking out five of a fairly large size. He threw them, one after another, at a window in the back of the school and pushed the broken glass out so that he had enough room to crawl through. He cut his hands and his arms and, when he landed on the broken glass on the floor, his knees, but he didn't care. He sucked on one particularly nasty cut on his hand and looked around the room. Mathematics, probably.

He crossed over to the door and realized with a start that it was locked. He removed his hand from his mouth long enough to ask Maurice a question. "The door's locked," he said. "How do I get out?"

"I can tell you how to pick it," Maurice offered. Roger looked up at him and he smiled. "Alright, so here's what you have to do…"

Ten minutes later, Roger had mastered the art of picking locks. Maurice was a surprisingly good teacher, especially considering the fact that he was dead. Roger crept down the hallways until he stopped in front of a door he supposed was the office. The office would have addresses, wouldn't it? Roger would have to hurry up. It wouldn't be long before the broken window was noticed. Of course, he hadn't seen anyone around, but someone was bound to circle back behind the school sooner or later. If that happened he would probably have to kill them.

He should have taken the gun from Bill's house. As was, Bill still had it and Roger was stuck with that knife. That knife that had stuck in Bill's hip and Maurice's stomach and would soon be used to torture Samneric. Roger did like knives more than he liked guns, but if he were to be met by someone he did not want to waste his time with he would prefer a gun.

After getting into the office and rifling through the drawers until finding a folder with the name 'Eric Haakensson', Roger slumped down behind the desk and flipped through it. Physicals. Report cards. Detention records. Address.

Roger studied the address and decided that he had best show Maurice. Maurice would remember. Maurice looked at it for a split second and nodded. "Got it," he said. Roger threw the file on the desk. He didn't particularly care if it was obvious he had broken in for the express purpose of finding Eric's file. As an afterthought he drew a large smiley face in black marker. Maurice looked at the smiley face and grimaced.

"Why d'you give your smiley faces noses? It makes them look extra creepy," Maurice said. He paused. "Actually, don't answer that. It's pretty obvious why you make your smiley faces look like that."

Roger nodded and headed back for the room that he'd entered through. He had a funny feeling that someone was watching him so he hurried, practically sprinting down the hallway and throwing himself through the window. The impact with the ground made the cuts on his hands start bleeding again and Roger stuck his hand in his mouth again, sucking at the wound. The taste of blood was better when it wasn't his but his would do.

Maurice navigated for him. Roger followed Maurice's instruction without question and was eventually standing outside a well-kept two-story house.

"Wrap up your hands," Maurice suggested. Roger decided that this was probably a good idea and dug around in the bag for an old T-shirt of his. He tore it to shreds with his teeth and wrapped it tightly around his hands. He could see the blood soaking through already. They were deep. He had probably gotten blood all over Eric's file.

"Be sure to look in the windows before heading in. You don't know what's going on in there," Maurice said. Maurice was like his guardian angel. His advisor. It was like Roger was the king and Maurice his advisor. Yes, that's exactly what it was. Roger was the king. King Roger. It had a nice ring to it.

Maybe once he got rid of the kids from The Island he could work on world domination.

That was a joke. Roger didn't want to rule anything. He just wanted to be left alone while he did what he wanted. What he wanted was to hurt people. The asylum had, by taking that away, sharpened that desire to the point that Roger was trying to hurt himself. He had bit at the top of his straightjacket and tried to get at the delicate flesh at his collarbone but as soon as he got too close they'd switch out the straightjackets. He'd bit the inside of his cheek bloody. He'd dug his fingernails into his hands so deep they'd put mittens on him. He'd tried everything to get that taste of blood and that rush of pain, knowing that he was inflicting the pain.

Then Maurice had come and saved him.

And Roger would be eternally grateful.

…

At sunset one of the twins and the parents left the house. Roger wasn't sure if there was anyone besides the other twin in the house, but he would take the chance. There really would be no better time to do this. He'd been given a gift in the fact that only one was there. He had to take it.

"I wish you hadn't died," he mentioned to Maurice as he entered the house through an unlocked side door. Stupid. They were stupid. Or maybe just overly optimistic. Or both. "It makes this thing so much harder."

"Sorry," Maurice said. "I wish I hadn't died, too."

"And if you were going to die, you could've at least waited a little bit. I was just getting Ralph all tied up," Roger said. "I hadn't even started yet."

"Should I have not screamed?"

"No, that was good. It warned me," Roger said. He was walking through the house now, peering into rooms, keeping up casual conversation with Maurice. Maybe this would warn the other twin that he was coming. Or maybe it would freak him out.

Roger was suddenly annoyed by lack of twin.

"Come on out, twin!" Roger called. "You're _all alone in this house with me and Maurice! _Come out!"

Something creaked upstairs and Roger practically flew up the stairs, spotting the twin start to head for a large, heavy door. Roger lunged for him and sent him crashing to the ground. "Which one are you?" he asked. The twin shuddered and Roger rolled his eyes. "Answer me."

"Sam," the twin said, and Roger nodded. Pinning Sam's arms to his sides with his knees, Roger dug through the bag until he found the chain. He secured both ends to Sam's wrists and wrapped it around them as many times as the chain would allow. Sam was crying. Roger wondered what the hell was wrong with the guy.

"If you make a sound, it will be worse," Roger promised Sam, dragging him into the room that he'd been trying to escape into. It was a bathroom. Roger took a shaving razor out of the cabinet and cut a long cut up Sam's arm. Sam winced but held his tongue. Roger was almost impressed.

_We're waiting for you Eric. :o)_

Blood on the mirror. It was even better than the blood on the window. Roger bandaged up Sam's arm with the ripped up t-shirt and dragged him out of the house.

"Where should we go, Maurice?" Roger asked. The wind was starting to blow something awful. It was cold.

"There's an abandoned shed in the middle of the park!" Maurice said, and Roger nodded. He pulled Sam through the back ways of the town, staying away from streetlights and thanking whoever it was that took charge of this sort of thing that it was too cold for many people to be out and about.

Eventually, he made it to the shed that Maurice had mentioned. He kicked in the door and set Sam in the corner.

"Now we wait," he said with a grin, shutting the door and leaning against it.

* * *

**and with this chapter roger has successfully screwed up the rest of my outline so we're back to 'i have no idea what i'm doing'**


	24. Chapter Twenty-four: Roger

The next day Sam woke Roger up with his incessant yelling. He thought that he would be able to get someone to hear him. He was sorely mistaken. This was the middle of the woods in the park. It was winter. December Something-or-Other. Dates were meaningless. It was just time. Time was nothing but a nuisance.

"Shut him up," Maurice said. "He's giving me a headache."

"You're dead," Roger pointed out. "You can't have a headache."

"Yes," Maurice said. "I can."

"Alright," Roger said, shrugging. He looked around for something to gag Sam with, who was now silent and looking at him through wide brown eyes. He eventually settled on what he had previously used to bandage up his hands. Just one of them. The one on his left hand because the cut on that one wasn't as bad. His hand looked like it was maybe going to start to bleed again but if Roger didn't strain it it should be fine. And even if it did start to bleed again it didn't matter.

Once Sam was gagged Roger turned back to Maurice. "What now?" he asked. Maurice seemed to think for a bit.

"Ransom note. Only just to Eric," Maurice said, nodding. "And not quite a ransom note, either. Just telling him where to meet you."

"Where should he meet me?" Roger asked, forehead crinkling in concentration. He didn't know where he should ask Eric to meet him. Maybe somewhere near where Sam was. The outskirts of the park or something of the sort.

Someone pounded on the door and Roger jumped.

"I heard screams!" the voice shouted. It was a girl's voice. Roger sighed. Girls were annoying. They screamed too much and laughed too much and _cared _too much. That's part of the reason the island had been fun. No girls.

"What should I do?" he asked Maurice. Maurice shrugged.

"Let her in and tie her up, too?" he suggested. But that wouldn't work. He didn't have enough chain. Unless he unwrapped Sam's hands and tied the two of them together. That would work. He would do that.

The girl wouldn't stop pounding on the door and it was giving Roger a headache. Even bigger than the headache Sam's screeching had given him. "That works," Roger agreed, and he went over to Sam. He grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the side of the shack. The shack shuddered and Sam wasn't quite unconscious. Blood trickled down the side of his face though. That was a start.

He'd have to use the floor. Sam's screams were extremely muffled through the gag but they were still there.

Eventually he got Sam unconscious. The girl hadn't stopped pounding on the door.

"Open up or I'm getting the police!" she yelled. Roger wished she would shut up. He unwound the chain from Sam's hands and unlocked the cuffs. He opened the door.

A girl no older than him stood on the other side. She looked at him, gaped, really, and he used her shock to drag her in. She reacted more quickly than he'd thought she would. She kicked and screeched something awful. Roger slammed the door shut and tore the bandage off of his hand frantically, pinning her down and shoving it at her mouth. She twisted and scratched and _Jesus Christ fingernails this was why he didn't like girls_.

Eventually he ended up knocking her out like he'd knocked out Sam. He dragged her over to Sam and propped them up against each other, winding the chain around them and eventually locking one manacle to each of their wrists. Right to Sam, left to this girl.

And then he waited.

He took the bandage out of the girl's mouth and wrapped it back around his hand, which had begun to bleed again. He waited, he waited, he waited. They were taking far too long to wake up. He had a suspicion that Sam had been up for a while now. He'd just been too scared to be awake.

Roger decided to play hangman with Maurice. He drew the gallows and made seven small lines. Maurice sat on the floor and bit down on his thumbnail.

"R."

"E."

"S."

The head went on.

"M."

Stick-body.

"N."

"A."

One arm.

"I."

Second arm.

"O."

Now Maurice looked extremely stumped. Roger sat there with the BLANK O N BLANK BLANK E R in front of him, smirking. He hoped that he had spelled it right. It was a tough word especially when the one spelling it hadn't been in school for five years and his last schooling had been nothing special. But he thought that he knew this word. Roger had always been good at spelling. It had been the only thing he'd been good at.

"Conquer," the girl said from the back of the room. She was bleeding from her nose and the side of her head and she looked defiant. Roger didn't like it. "Playing hangman with yourself?"

"No," Roger said. He rubbed out the remains of his game. "I'm playing with Maurice. Who are you?"

"Theresa McQuillen," she said. Roger hadn't expected what sounded like an actual name but it made things easier. "Who are you?" Her eyes brightened like she had an idea of who he was and was excited about it. "You're Roger Dressler, aren't you? The kid that went psycho on that island thing and killed those other guys? You said you're playing with Maurice! Maurice Machintire? Where is he?"

"I can't touch him anymore," Roger said. He spoke slowly. He didn't want to say anything wrong. "I can only talk to him. He talks to me too. He can't make me guess at hangman because he can't draw in the dirt. I sort of like it better that way but now I can't touch him."

There was a sort of light in Theresa's eyes that Roger didn't like.

"Touch him? Like, sexually? In a- a-"

"Yes," Roger said. "Maurice saved me. I saved Maurice. We were partners."

"This is great," Theresa said. She sounded like she didn't realize that she was talking out loud. "Oh my god, this is great. Wait until I tell-"

Sam had managed to work his way free of his gag. Roger took it back to wrap around his hand. "You're going to die," he said bluntly. Theresa twisted her head to look at him.

"Oh, hello! Who are you?" she asked. Sam rolled his eyes. He seemed much more cynical than he had been on the island. Both Sam and Eric had been extremely naïve. Perhaps Roger had cured them of that naivety.

"Sam," was all he said. "And don't get any romantic ideals about this bastard. He's a cold, unfeeling bastard that gets off on our pain."

Roger just watched. He slipped back into his usual position of observation. It was what he was good at. It was what he was used to. Maurice sat down next to him, and though Roger couldn't feel him it was a comfort.

Theresa looked a bit shocked at Sam's crass words. "I- I'm sure-"

"You're sure what?" Sam asked. He seemed to have gotten over his initial shock and fright and was now ranting to the one person in the room that would care. Maurice would have cared if he were alive, perhaps, but as was the only one who would even pretend to care was Theresa. "Believe me, this guy has absolutely no good qualities."

Roger turned to Maurice. "Is that true?" he asked. Maurice thought for a while.

"Well," he said. "You're certainly persistent."

"And he's insane, as you can see," Sam said. "Talking to nothing."

"I'm talking to Maurice," Roger said. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. Nothing," he repeated. Roger was suddenly angry. Maurice was not nothing. Maurice was dead. Maurice was only visible to him because he was the only who believed. Roger decided that he needed to teach Sam about Maurice.

He pulled the knife that had killed Maurice out of Maurice's backpack. "This is the knife that Bill used to kill Maurice," he said. Theresa gaped. Perhaps she knew Bill. Or perhaps she was just reacting to the news that Maurice was dead. "It stuck in Maurice's stomach and Maurice died. I can't touch Maurice anymore. He can't kiss me and I can't fuck him. Our plans have been destroyed. If Maurice wasn't dead right now, you and your brother would be dead, Sam. We had plans to go for you next. If Maurice wasn't dead, you and Eric and Bill and Ralph would all be _dead. _And instead of having two pouches of eyes I'd only have one. Because you four. You four aren't important enough to have your own."

There was a pause. Theresa looked like she was going to be sick. Sam looked like he was trying to be defiant but wasn't quite making it.

"Do you want to see Maurice's eyes?" Roger asked, and suddenly he was laughing. It was funny. Maurice's eyes were all he had left of him, and he hadn't even liked Maurice's eyes. They were too large and dark and merry. Even when they were serious, they sparkled. It had given them character but now all of that character was gone because they were cold and dead. That was why Roger had given Maurice a Viking funeral, partly. So that he wouldn't be cold. Dead, yes. Cold, no. Maurice was _burning burning burning _and so was he and soon Sam and Eric and Ralph and Bill and Jack and, hell, Theresa would be burning too.

They were scared. He could see that much. That was good. He had a particular love for the fear of others. He reached into one of his coat pockets for Maurice's eyes, then paused. Maybe now wasn't the time. He looked at Maurice. Maurice shook his head. It wasn't the time.

"Never mind," he said. "Maurice says that now isn't the time."

He was suddenly remembered how hungry he was and wondered how he was supposed to deal with that.

Damn it.

He really missed Maurice.

As if he could read Roger's mind, Sam voiced his discomfort as well. "If you don't want us to die of starvation, you'll feed us," he said. He still sounded like he was trying to be strong and failing.

Roger thought for a bit. Perhaps if he gagged them and tipped them over he could slip out for a bit to grab some food. He hadn't eaten for a few days either.

So he did just that. Only instead of untying the bandages from his hands he got an entire new gag so that it could wrap around both of their heads at once. Sam bit him and Roger slapped him. He didn't have time to waste. Now that he'd made a plan to get food, his hunger was sharpened and he needed food now. And he should feed his prisoners. Otherwise they might just die of starvation and even if they didn't they were no fun half-starved.

He decided to steal food from Ralph and Bill's house. If the doors were locked he could break some windows, but hopefully they weren't locked and he could just sneak in and out quickly. He headed out, shoving the door closed and hoping to god that they wouldn't get out.

…

He stood in front of Bill and Ralph's house. It was larger than it had seemed the past few times he'd been here. His presence wouldn't be known this time, though. If all went according to plan, he would slip in, fill Maurice's backpack with food, and leave. Run back to the shack and feed himself and Sam and Theresa. He wasn't sure how they would eat but he would figure that out later. If they were really hungry they would figure it out.

The front door was locked, and so was the back, but he found a window in the kitchen that wasn't. He managed to pull his way up and through the window, landing in the sink and making a much bigger racket than he'd hoped for. He could hear a radio on upstairs, though, so perhaps they hadn't heard him. He would have to hurry, though.

He filled his backpack with food. Every kind of food. He stole a can opener so that he could steal canned food. He took bread and crackers and a few oranges. He stole a bottle of orange juice and a few cups. He could hear them coming downstairs and zipped up the backpack and threw it out the window. He followed it, nearly getting stuck and panicking for a few seconds. He eventually got through, however, and shouldered the backpack and ran.

* * *

**wow thanks theresa for helping roger screw everything up yOU WEREN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO EXIST**


	25. Chapter Twenty-five: Jack

Jack had finally caved and used some of his money to get a hotel room. He'd hated doing it; it made him feel so _weak _and _was he really the same savage chief from the island all those years ago? _Jack had also found his way back to his bank and withdrew everything in his savings. There had been questions, sure, but with the right paperwork – he'd spent a night learning how to exactly replicate his father's signature – he'd been able to get everything.

Now he had money, a gun, food, and all he needed was a plan.

He wanted to go back to Bill and Ralph and _beg for forgiveness is that what you want to do Jacky just go back and BEG to be let back in just get down on your KNEES and BEG for them to believe you that YOU DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH WHAT ROGER DID and YOU DON'T EVEN FUCKING KNOW WHERE ROGER IS and that sort? They'll never believe you. Not in a million years._

Jack silenced the voice in his head and took a sip of his wine. He'd also bought a bottle of wine and a fancy wineglass – a waste of money, maybe, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. And right now it certainly seemed like a good idea.

He'd bought a newspaper on the way up to his hotel room and was flipping through it now. He needed to follow Roger's story because he needed to _join him _know when to get the hell out of there. There were a few pages of nothing and then a large headline stating that a twin (_a twin oh god_) and a teenaged girl had gone missing. He didn't want to read it but knew that he should. He skimmed it, feeling sicker with each word. Eventually he had to put the newspaper down and very calmly make his way to the bathroom to throw up.

What to do next?

There was a telephone in the lobby. He'd kept tabs on Robert; in fact, Robert had come over to his house every once in a while when he was younger. Right after he'd come back from the island, in fact. He hadn't contacted Robert in a few years but he still knew his phone number. He'd memorized it.

He felt awkward the entire way down to the lobby. It felt like _everyone's looking at you Jacky they're silently judging you and thinking that you don't have any idea what you're doing _"Excuse me, may I use the phone?" _your hands are shaking Jacky that's suspicious who are you calling that's what they're all wondering _"Is Robert there?" _he moved he moved these people have no idea who you're talking about-_

But, no, the voice – Robert's mother? – was calling for him now. Screaming his name really. She had to, over the racket he could even hear over the phone. Eventually Robert got to the phone, breathless. "Yeah?" he asked.

"It's Jack."

"Who?"

"Merridew," Jack said. Robert was quiet. "Listen, I need you. Just… come to my hotel, and I'll tell you everything you need to know."

Robert didn't speak for a few more minutes, then let out a long sigh. "Alright," he said. "But just because I owe you. And there better be beer. Where is it?"

Jack gave him directions and then headed out to buy Robert some beer. It was cold – what was to be expected for December 22nd – but nothing that wasn't manageable. He was glad that he'd stuck some money in his pocket before leaving his hotel room _must be fate huh Jacky?_

Ten minutes later he was back in his room, finishing off his glass of wine and warming up from his trek outside. Robert's beers sat on the desk, on top of the newspaper. Jack waited, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was too bad he'd gotten just the single bed. If he had thought of Robert sooner he would've gotten a room with two beds. But it was too late for that now. Jack was sure that Robert would sleep at his feet if he had to _because Robert has never failed you he is the ultimate subordinate _no, not subordinate fri_end? Is that what you think? Robert is a thug he needs you because you tell him what to do and that's it. _

There was a knock at the door and Jack had to hold himself back from jumping up and answering it right away. If it was Robert – and it probably was – he couldn't let himself act too eager. Be someone he can _respect_, Jack, _because if he doesn't respect you he won't follow your orders._

He opened the door and, sure enough, Robert was on the other side. Sixteen years old, a little on the short side, but broad-shouldered and muscled, Robert was perfect for a bodyguard/accomplice. He was tanned and blond, with muddy hazel eyes and an almost permanent smirk. "This better be good," was all he said, looking into the room.

"This is war," Jack said. "Only instead of two sides this time, there are three. Roger and Maurice. Bill and Ralph. And us."

"Hold up – Bill and _Ralph?_ How the hell did that happen?" Robert asked, reaching for a beer. "I always liked Bill. I mean, I'm not surprised that Roger went out on his own and that Maurice followed him, but I expected Bill to be on your side."

"I expected that, too," Jack said. "But it's not happening."

"So, what's the plan, chief?" Robert asked. "Are we going to fuck shit up or what?"

Jack grinned a little. He'd forgotten how much he liked having Robert around. Even back on the island he'd liked Robert the best – Roger was efficient, sure, but he was a little creepy and always seemed to have his own agenda and Bill was… well, a little dense, and _Bill _– and the fact that Robert was completely ready to finish what they had started on the island made it all the better.

"Yeah," Jack said. "We are going to fuck shit up."

* * *

**it's a little short but robert was supposed to be some guy that roger killed he's not making this easy for me either the next chapter should be longer i think**


	26. Chapter Twenty-six: Jack

The night before there had been drinking and ranting and planning. Jack vaguely remembered going to buy more alcohol, but anything after that was fuzzy. His head hurt. He felt like he was maybe going to throw up. He hoped that they'd written down their plans, because he was certain that neither of them remembered them. If they were any good _they weren't good Jack you know that they were drunken plans of revenge sure better than you could ever make while you were SOBER but still not GOOD._

Robert woke up then, yawning and sitting up. His foot pressed against Jack's hip for a second, then withdrew. Jack, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, glanced at him. "Christ, that was great," Robert said. "Nothin' like having a rich friend, right?"

"The only reason I'm rich right now is because I stole my parents' money," Jack muttered. "Took everything out of my savings and took a bunch out of _their _savings."

"An immoral rich friend is even better," Robert said. "Well, I'm gonna hit the shower and then we can go find Bill and Ralph."

Jack looked at him, uncomprehending. Robert didn't notice and headed to the bathroom, and Jack rolled his eyes. As nice as it was to be around Robert, he could be a little unobservant sometimes _not like you're any better you don't care about ANYTHING but yourself that's what you are you're SELF-ABSORBED and SELFISH and ATTENTION-SEEKING and it's disgusting you're disgusting disgusting disgusting_

"You okay?"

Jack glanced up. Robert was half-way out the bathroom door, half-dressed. He looked slightly concerned. "Yeah," Jack said, and Robert nodded, closing the door and turning on the shower. Jack stood up, listening to the shower run and rifling through the papers on the desk. The newspaper, along with a hotel notepad that had scribbles all over it. He flipped through them, noticing his slanted handwriting and Robert's scrawls. Most of it was crap. Nothing he could use for anything.

Tucked in the newspaper, however, was a piece of paper with just Robert's handwriting. Jack couldn't read it. Robert really did have bad handwriting and, from what he could read, horrific spelling, too. That was one thing Roger had been good at. Spelling. Grammar. He hadn't always been the best at putting his thoughts into sentences, but everything he ever wrote was always spelled correctly and grammatically correct. Except apostrophes. He never seemed to bother with those for some reason. Punctuation in general was disregarded by Roger, but he always had the correct verb tense and the words in the right order and all that.

A few minutes later, Robert got out of the shower. He'd thrown on his clothes from the night before – of course, he didn't have any clothes on him _he came right when you asked him to he didn't even stop to pack he just came right there perfect little underling._

"We need a better plan," Jack said. Robert looked like he was about to protest. "Either that or you tell me what this is, because I can't read it."

"Well," Robert said. "The general idea was to… get Bill on our side? And then go catch Roger and turn him in to the insane asylum 'cause that'd get rid of him. And it says in the article that they're willing to pay to get him back 'cause he's a menace or something."

"Let's just skip the Bill part and go straight to catching Roger," Jack said. Bill would be hard to convince, he told himself, it's not because _you're incredibly fucking jealous of him and Ralph admit it Jacky that's why you don't like Ralph but you don't want anyone else to have him _if he just would've _if he just would've what if he just would've been yours on the island if he wouldn't have had his own ideas about things face it Jack you couldn't have him so you don't want anyone else to have him either_

Robert snapped his fingers in front of Jack's face and Jack jumped. "You really gotta stop doing that," he said, his ever-present smirk growing. "Someone might think you're crazy or something."

"Maybe I am," Jack said, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Maybe that's why nobody ever sticks around, because I'm so damn crazy they can't stand me."

"Actually, it's because you're an insufferable prick," Robert oh-so-helpfully provided. Jack glared at him, and he grinned. "Just kidding. That's mostly before… you know."

"The island," Jack said. Robert nodded, finally looking uncomfortable. Huh. And Jack had thought that Robert would be the steady one. The one that wasn't going to flip out on him. Maybe he still would be, but if he felt uncomfortable about the island _which you also feel uncomfortable about Jacky don't be a hypocrite _then there would be other things he'd feel uncomfortable about, too _like what murder _and it wasn't like he was planning on killing someone or anything _except maybe Bill because he stole Ralph he FUCKING STOLE RALPH FROM YOU JACKY ARE YOU JUST GOING TO LET THAT SLIDE _and Robert was usually up for anything.

Robert had been speaking. Jack had no idea what he was talking about but he suspected it didn't matter. "So, if we're just going to scrap the whole 'get Bill with us' thing, we should go on a hunt for Roger right no-"

"Now?" Jack asked. "My head feels like it's going to explode. _You _seem perfectly fine, though."

Robert grinned. "I don't get hungover," he said. "At least you aren't puking your guts up. One of the guys I know throws up every time he has a drink. Every fucking time."

"You can go do whatever," Jack said. "I just want to…"

"Sleep?"

"That sounds good."

…

At one in the afternoon they went out to eat. Jack was glad his parents were so rich. He wouldn't be running out of money any time soon, even with Robert eating everything in sight.

After they ate, it was time for their first Roger hunt.

"Where do you think he is?" Jack asked as they wandered through a park. Robert shrugged.

"Dunno," Robert said. "You knew him better than I did."

"I don't think anybody knew Roger," Jack said quietly. "Maurice, maybe, but I don't even think he really knew him."

"I don't want to know Roger," Robert said, pretending to shudder. "God, who knows what goes on in that fucked-up head of his. Say, do you feel up to buying us some more-"

Jack shoved some money into his hands. "You can get drunk all you want but I'm sure as hell not drinking in the near future."

Robert snorted. "You're such a wuss," he said. He pocketed the money. "But thanks."

Jack nodded and they resumed their search.

* * *

**robert is much more entertaining than i originally thought good job robert**


	27. Chapter Twenty-seven: Jack

The next day, after Jack had managed to drag Robert out of bed – "I told you, I don't get hungover! I'm just really tired!" – they decided to go look for Roger again. They were walking through a nice park; a bit of snow, kids running around pelting each other with snowballs and playing tag while their mothers stood around, shivering and talking about Christmas.

That's right. It was Christmas Eve.

It was a bit sad, not spending Christmas Eve with his family. It wasn't like his family had been nice or anything – it had just been nice to be _around _them. There was a sense of family around the holidays that you couldn't ignore, even in a stiff, formal family such as Jack's. He wondered how they were doing now that he'd run off. Probably better than ever, now that they didn't have a crazy son to look after. They'd always made out like they were doing the world a gigantic favor by taking care of the kid. What bastards, right? Jack laughed a little, and Robert looked at him like he was insane.

Which he was, of course. Nobody could've come out of the island without at least a few scars.

"Hey!" Robert said, grabbing onto his sleeve and pulling him roughly along. Jack stumbled after him. "Bill! Ralph!"

"How the hell did you recognize them?" Jack wondered because, sure enough, there was Bill and Ralph, walking along down the sidewalk across the road. Robert glanced back at him.

"I hung out with Bill a few times after the island," he said. "We got pretty close on the island, you know. You and Roger always scheming to take over the world and shit, with no time for either of us, it was kind of default. Maurice was always too annoying to hang around and always seemed better suited to playing with the littleuns anyway; he was so _young_. We all were, but we don't really think about that. Simon. Simon was nine years _old_, Jack, and we killed him. Piggy. I don't know how old he was but he couldn't have been more than eleven. And all of us. Murderers. The oldest of us was you, right? Thirteen?"

He took a deep breath. "Oh, fuck, they're leaving."

Robert moved with a swiftness Jack hadn't ever seen him use before – brute force, yes, but _swift _brute force? – and grabbed onto the back of Ralph's jacket. Ralph twisted away, hitting Robert in the face in the process. Jack hurried across the street after Robert, nearly getting hit by a car. Bill saw him at once and there was that expression of rage Jack had last seen in Bill's kitchen after Bill's parents had been killed.

Bill moved faster than Jack was expecting – seriously, when had these guys gotten so fast? – and caught him on the temple. Jack saw stars and panicked _calm the fuck down Jack it's just Bill he's not going to hurt you he was always too soft too soft and too scared and too human to do much harm. _Robert had moved from Ralph, who looked startled but _not _like he was about to burst into tears, to Bill. He jumped on Bill's back, locking an arm around his neck and using Bill's height against him. Bill staggered drunkenly backwards into an alley.

Jack shared a look with Ralph and followed. Jack wasn't about to start a fight with Ralph; partly because he thought that Bill might kill him if he did, partly because Jack wasn't about to start a fight with anyone in his current physical and mental condition. Besides, it was just fun to watch Robert and Bill fight, if that made any sense _you're not fighting because you're scared because you know that you're not going to win because you can't do anything without WINNING of course you are JACK FUCKING MERRIDEW OF COURSE YOU CAN'T LOSE_

Bill had somehow gotten Robert off of his back, but he was breathing heavily, his neck red from Robert's arm. Robert looked slightly dazed but was grinning with the ferocity of a street fighter. He seemed to enjoy this type of thing; maybe he'd grown to enjoy it, he sure hadn't seemed to like being the pig back on the island.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Bill asked finally, his voice dangerously low. "And with this bastard, too."

"I've always been Jack's," Robert said. "Didn't you know that? We _all _are, and we always _all _will be. You might think that you're your own person now, but you aren't. We're all Jack's. Roger and Maurice will come back –"

"Maurice is dead," Bill interrupted. "He's dead, Robert, because I killed him. I know you guys think that I couldn't ever kill anyone without doing it with a crowd, but fact is, I _have, _and if you bastards come after us like they did, I'll kill you, too."

Robert was frozen. Jack exchanged another look with Ralph and walked over to Robert. "Are you ok-"

"No, I'm not," he said. "This guy… this guy was supposed to be the one that was never going to screw up. Don't you remember, when we were coming back from the island, and he was talkin' with the crew like nothing had happened? He was _fine, _and I thought he was still fine-"

"He was until I showed up," Ralph said. "Picture-perfect life."

"Don't leave me," Bill said. "I mean, I know I'm eighteen, but my parents are dead and Cecelia's in the hospital and God knows if she'll ever get better."

"I think it's time to go," Jack said, tugging at Robert's sleeve. He knew what Ralph and Bill were heading toward when they started looking at each other like that, and he didn't want to stick around to witness it. "Seriously, Robert, they're going to start making out."

Robert looked at him. "Really?"

"Really. Let's go back to the hote-"

"Screw that, let's go get something to eat," Robert said. "I'm starving. And d'ya think we could pick up a pack of cards or something? Because, honestly, it's really fucking boring in that hotel."

"Alright," Jack said, and the two headed off.

* * *

**jack's chapters are always kind of short. roger's are always long. it's kind of weird.**


	28. The End Part One: Bill

It didn't feel like Christmas.

They'd stopped by the hospital in the morning to see Cecelia – she was awake now, and they'd been able to give her the gifts that they'd purchased for her. When she started asking about their parents, Bill and Ralph had left. He didn't want to tell her that their parents were dead. No, he'd wait until she was out of the hospital. She now only had one eye and would probably walk with a limp for the rest of her life.

But it was Christmas. They had to have some festivities, right?

Bill had wanted to dress up for their nice dinner out, but ugly bruises had appeared on his neck from the fight yesterday and that made it difficult. He was going to dress up regardless, but it would look odd. He sighed and tied his tie, wishing that Robert wasn't such a prick. They'd been friends by default on the island, but that didn't mean that Bill liked him.

"Hurry up!" Ralph said, poking his head into their bedroom. "You take more time than a girl."

"Speaking of 'a girl', have you seen Theresa around lately?" Bill asked. Ralph shook his head. "It's a little weird. I mean, I thought she'd be over every day to badger with questions about the island, but she hasn't been here once since…"

"Since Maurice was…" Ralph trailed off, not willing to say it because saying that Maurice would cement the fact, and even though Bill had admitted it yesterday, that he'd killed Maurice, saying it in a more intimate setting and not to scare of Jack and Robert would be bad. He'd killed Maurice about a week ago. He didn't know if the police had found a body or not; he tended to avoid newspapers. He wasn't interested in knowing what Roger was up to.

Bill managed a smile. "Well, it's Christmas. Let's go, and then come back and open presents-"

"Okay," Ralph said, cutting him off. Bill was glad that he'd done it – after his parents had been murdered he'd gained the tendency to ramble on and on and on and on and on about things that didn't matter. The death of two loved ones did that to you, he guessed. "Hurry up. I'm starving."

"I'm coming," Bill said, glancing at his reflection one more time, grimacing at the bruises. "Alright. Let's go."

They got into Bill's car and headed to the restaurant. Ralph had made reservations a few days after Maurice had… perished. Somehow he'd become the strong one. Bill had used to be the one healing Ralph, and now it was the other way around. In getting involved with Ralph his entire world had been shattered and while he was trying to pick up the pieces of Ralph, somehow he'd been crushed to pieces as well. Now they were both just shattered, trying to put the other back together.

Bill had a feeling that it wasn't going to work out. He had a feeling that Roger was just going to murder them like he'd murdered Percival and Bill's parents.

The restaurant was crowded – of _course_ it was, it was Christmas day. They maneuvered through customers and waiters, following the host to their seat. After ordering, Ralph gave Bill a look that probably meant that they were going to talk about some serious shit. Bill held back a sigh. At the moment he didn't want to think about any more serious stuff. He'd inner-monologued enough on the car ride, he didn't need to tell Ralph about it.

"So," Ralph said. "When do you think Roger's going to come after us again?"

"Probably once Robert and Jack join him," Bill said promptly. Ralph rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Ralph, you know they're bad people. Think about what they did to you-"

"Yeah, and you helped them," Ralph said. "For all I know you're in on it and just waiting for the right moment to kill me and offer my head to-" He cut off abruptly, staring down at the table. The waiter brought their food then, and it offered a pleasant distraction. They ate, Bill making sure to have food in his mouth at all times as to not have to talk any more.

After eating, they headed back to the house. "I'll go get your present," Ralph said, kissing Bill and heading into the kitchen. Why the kitchen? Was it because Bill could not cook to save his life and therefore rarely entered the kitchen, or dug around in the cupboards?

He was brought out of his musings by a yell that sounded suspiciously like Ralph and a low voice that Bill couldn't quite make out. He headed for the kitchen, dreading what he might see.

What he saw was Roger with a knife to Ralph's neck, trying to get him out through the window. "Uh," Bill said. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Let me do this or I'm cutting his throat right here and now," Roger said bluntly. "Or let me out the back door, that would probably be easier. Just – shut up, Maurice, I'm trying to – of course I need him! Sam and that stupid bitch are getting boring!"

Bill swallowed. Great. As well as being a psychopath, Roger had apparently developed some schizophrenic tendencies. "Roger-"

"Shut up!" Roger yelled, facing Bill. Bill could only hope that the neighbors could hear and were dialing the police at this exact moment. "I _need _him, I need three of them, three is a perfect number and I need Ralph. Eric is too hard to get, he's too protected because I took Sam so Ralph is the better one. To be honest, I just wanted to get rid of him but now I need to keep him."

"How about you put the knife down-"

"No!" Roger said, his grip tightening. "This knife killed Maurice and it's going to kill Ralph and Sam and Bitch-Who-Thinks-I-Can-Be-Fixed. You know what else this knife killed, Bill? It killed the pig. It was Jack's knife."

Roger laughed. Ralph looked at Bill, his eyes wide, and Bill looked back at him, biting his lip. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Maybe he should go call the police – no, then Roger would kill Ralph, right then and there on the kitchen floor. Ralph's blood would spill over the floor and the tiles would be stained with red no matter how much Bill scrubbed them.

"Now," Roger said. "I'm going to let Ralph go for a second. But if you make any sort of move for the telephone or if you try to hurt me, when I get back I'm going to kill the bi- Theresa. That's her name. I think it means something to you."

"You don't have her," Bill said, his heart dropping to his stomach. "You – you can't."

"She heard Sam calling for help and I caught her," Roger said, shrugging. "She was very interested in me and solved my hangman game. We play hangman sometimes. She always has to guess, though. Because I keep them tied up. I'm not stupid – No, Maurice, shut up, I'm trying to get a point across. Yeah, yeah, I know, I should hurry up. _Shut up and let me do this. I don't need you."_

Roger let go of Ralph, who looked too scared to move, and sliced open his wrist. Blood dripped onto the floor, but Roger ignored it. He climbed onto the sink, shut the window, and painted a :o) on it. "What the fuck?" Bill exclaimed, but Roger ignored him. He then slid back onto the floor, put the knife back to Ralph's throat, and began to drag him toward the back door.

"I'll see you later, Bill," Roger said, grinning, but there was something off about it. He kept glancing around like he was looking for something. "You can call the police in ten minutes. I'm sure they'll want to know why you didn't stop me. But at least you'll be able to put a definite face to the Smiley Face Murderer."

Bill stood there, shaking, as Roger dragged Ralph through the back door and out of his house. In about five minutes he rushed for the phone, still shaking. But he didn't call the police.

He called Eric.

"Hello?" an adult asked. He figured it was Eric's father.

"Hey… can I talk to Eric?" he asked.

"Eric? He's _gone, _who the hell is this?"

"But… I thought Sam was missing-"

"No, it's Eric," the man said angrily. "Why do you need to talk to him?"

Bill took a deep breath. "I know who took your son, and I need E- Sam's help in getting him back. But _please _just put him on the phone. Or I could come over there, if you li-"

"No, the phone is fine," the man snapped. "Sam! Phone for you! He says he knows where Eric is."

"What?" Sam asked. Bill swallowed. He sounded like he'd been crying.

"Roger took your brother but your brother says he's you and he just took Ralph and – fuck, I just – I need help," Bill said, taking a deep breath. "I- I just… Jack and Robert are on their own side and I think Roger is completely fucking crazy and I just…"

Sam was silent. "Do you think if I came over we could find them together?"

"Yeah," Bill said. "Will your dad be okay with it, though? He sounded kinda…"

"I'll sneak out," Sam said, waving a hand dismissively. "I used to all the time."

…

At midnight, Sam rapped on the kitchen window (freshly scrubbed) and Bill let him in through the front door.

"We can start looking tomorrow," Bill said. "I don't know if they have much time left."

* * *

**this was supposed to be fluffy bill/ralph Christmas stuff but apparently that's not happening**

**also I can feel this drawing to close soon it's kind of sad but i can tell it's going to end in the next few chapters I know how I'm going to end it I just need to work out a few details**


	29. The End Part Two: Roger

He had three of them and now he would have to act quickly. Last night after getting back he had tied up Ralph. Theresa had asked him to play hangman but he was too busy looking for Maurice, Maurice who had disappeared at Bill and Ralph's house and _wouldn't come back._

But he could bring Maurice back for good. Something at the back of his mind told him so. If he killed these ones. Maybe Maurice would come back. Or maybe they would just die. That wouldn't be so bad either.

Sam was awake. "Are you going to murder us violently yet?" he drawled. Roger felt like smacking him but didn't.

Instead he answered his question. "Yes," he said. "All three of you. But not yet. Tonight. On the bridge of the river. You have one last day."

He paused.

"Hangman, anyone?"

Ralph woke up then. As soon as he realized where he was he started shaking. Perhaps Roger should go give him a reason to shake. He passed by Theresa as he went, absentmindedly patting her on the head. Though he'd called her a bitch he did not mind her company. Once you got past the annoying comments. She was quite good at hangman.

He crouched in front of Ralph, gazing into his light, scared blue eyes. "Are you ready to die?" he asked. Ralph swallowed. Roger frowned. "I asked you a question. Are. You. Ready. To. Die?"

Ralph still didn't answer and Roger hit him. Ralph squeaked and Roger rolled his eyes. "No," Ralph said. "I-"

"Then get ready," Roger said. "Because tonight all of you are dying. You last. I want you to hear them scream. I want them all to hear the screams. I want…" _I want Maurice to hear the screams and come back. I want Maurice back. I want to be back in the basement with Maurice. I want to be back with Maurice. I want _Maurice.

He half-laughed, half-sobbed as he stumbled back to get the knife. He cut a slit in a t-shirt so that he could rip it into ribbons, chewing on his wrist so far he tasted blood. The cut from last night was hurting. He should have wrapped it up once he'd gotten back but he hadn't. Stupid. It was probably going to get infected.

But.

That didn't matter. None of it mattered. He would wrap it now. He took a break from chewing away at his wrist to wrap up his arm. The skin was already looking a little puffy and red. Damn it. Infections were a pain in the ass. "Don't you understand?" he asked to nobody in particular. "I need to kill you because if I don't you'll tell them where I am. And I can't let you go once I have you. If I kill you I can have. I can have everything I need. And if they catch me I'll…"

"We'll tell them you're insane," Theresa said. She looked scared.

"Because you are," Sam muttered.

"How about some more hangman?" Theresa said, offering a weak smile. Roger clutched himself – he had to, he had to hold himself together or he would fall apart.

"No," he said. "No, don't tell them I'm crazy they'll take me _back _and the shocks and the straightjacket and now I'm old enough for the- for the brain surgery and-"

He broke off, digging his fingernails into his hands. Both Sam and Theresa looked at him with wide eyes. Ralph was very pointedly not looking at him. Ralph, who had gotten him in that _stupid place in the first place_, was not looking at him. Ralph needed to look at him. _He needed to see what he'd done._

Clutching the knife tightly in his hand, he strode over the Ralph and stabbed him in the hand. Ralph screamed. "Look at me!" Roger yelled. "See what you've done? I used to – I used to be okay, basically! And you _destroyed _me! You should have let them kill me for killing your fatass of a friend! You blamed Simon's death on me too, you should have let me die! It would have been better-"

Roger thought about the times with Maurice and shook his head. No. He'd had good times with Maurice. But Maurice was dead because of him – that was Ralph's fault too. If Ralph would've just let Roger kill him then he could have helped Maurice with Bill and Maurice wouldn't be dead. And if Ralph hadn't been such a prick last night then Maurice wouldn't have left him forever. Roger felt hot, angry tears slip out of his eyes and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force them away. Ralph's screams had faded to soft sobs. Roger pulled the knife out. Ralph let out another soft yelp and was silent.

"I can't do this," Roger said. He rolled up his pant leg, ignoring the cold of the winter seeping through the shack's weak walls. He cut the smiley face into his calf, biting down on his tongue and shaking all the while. The smile of the thing curved grotesquely downward into a half-frown. "Fuck!" Roger practically screamed. He couldn't even do that right.

"R-roger," Theresa said. He whirled around to face her. "L-let's play some hangman."

"Alright," Roger said. He smiled. It didn't feel natural. It felt like there were metal hooks pulling the two sides of his face up in the rough imitation of a smile. "Hold on."

He drew the blanks and the gallows and sat back, waiting. His pants were sticking to the smiley face on his leg. He should not have cut that deep but he was going to die soon anyway. Right after he killed them. If Maurice didn't reappear, he would off himself.

It was a slow game of hangman, but eventually she got it. She blanched. "Did you get it?" Roger asked, giggling a little. "Say it out loud. I'm sure Sam and Ralphie want to hear it, too."

"It's Eric," Sam said. "I said I was Sam because… oh, I don't know. Maybe I was trying to protect Sam, I don't know. But it's Eric."

"Samoreric, whoever the fuck you are," Roger said, that imitation smile still on his face. "I don't care. One twin is going to die tonight, it doesn't matter if it's Sam or Eric. Maybe it'll be Samneric. You're basically one person anyway."

Another round of shivering, laughing, and sobbing ran through him and he hugged himself. It was the only way to hold himself together, for a bit at least. Just until tonight. Just until tonight he would do this. Just until tonight he would hold himself together. Tonight he would let himself go, let himself _explode _and break and _die. _

"Say it, Theresa," Roger said. Something occurred to him. "You want to fuck Bill, don't you? You _lust _for him. I know about lust. I don't know what Ralphie has with Bill, but I can understand lust well enough. Now. Say it."

"I… I think you're wrong."

Roger frowned. "You've got it wrong after all. That's not what it is. You wouldn't pale if it were just that. I thought you were paling at the mention of your death but I guess that's not it."

Roger drew the last leg and sighed. "You lose."

"No," Theresa shook her head. "I know what it says. 'Your death will bring back Maurice.' But you're wrong. It won't bring back Maurice. Maurice is dead, Roger. You said so yourself. The only way you're going to see Maurice again is if you die."

"Maybe I will," Roger said. "But you still lose. You got it. But you lose. You're always going to lose. Oh sure, maybe you'll get into heaven. If there is such a thing. But you'll still lose. Because I killed you. British schoolboys couldn't have done all that stuff. Of course not. They pushed it all on me. But I was just practicing my talents. That's what you're supposed to do with talents. Practice so you don't lose them. Everyone else went mad. I stayed exactly the same."

He laughed again.

"Maybe I'm crazy now. But that's their fault. The shocks don't help crazy people, Theresa. If anyone ever asks you, you can tell them so. Maybe we can stop by that place before you three die. Tell them that what they're doing fucks up the crazies even more. It hurts. It hurts and you don't have control. Then they shove you in a room because it's not safe for you to be around other people. Eventually you get the straightjacket because it's not safe for you to be around yourself. Why? You started chewing holes in your wrists and they were scared you were going to die. Not their prize 'patient.' They couldn't let that happen.

"So they give you the straightjacket. And they stick with the shocks but you're just a kid and they're too much for you. They hurt and you give up. For a few days. Of course they're working. You're incredibly insane, that's why they only work for a little bit. You chew on the top of your straightjacket because you're too small and they don't quite have one in your size so it's easy for you to chew the top open. They have to replace it every few months. But you don't get a break from it unless you're getting the shocks. Then your arms are in a normal position but you don't care because you know that it's just for a little bit.

"And then he rescues you. He rescues you and you're scared because-" he broke off, shivering. "Because you can see that he cares. He carries you out of there and he keeps you in his basement. At first you love the little freedom of getting out of the straightjacket and have a little room to walk around in but soon you get restless. There are bugs everywhere. You start to kill them. He gets you a kitten. You kill it. Instead of putting you back in the straightjacket he tells you that you need a hobby. You show him the bugs. Instead of putting you back in the straightjacket he hugs you and cleans them up.

"Even when you escape he doesn't do much. Sometimes he chains you to your door by one wrist but even that's okay because when he's there he lets you go free and at first when he hugs you and pats your head it's too much but pretty soon you want more and by the time you've made him kill his father and the attendants he kisses you and touches you and you go on the run and you break the bottles of communion wine but he still doesn't put you back in the straightjacket because he _understands_, his father ran that place and he understands."

He paused, looking at them. Eric looked like he was trying to look bored and failing. Theresa was crying. Ralph was staring down at his injured hand. Roger should probably wrap that up. He would later. After he was done speaking.

He didn't think he'd spoken so much before in his life. Usually he was interrupted before he got this far, and he usually didn't even try to speak that much. He didn't need to. He was the observer, not the observed.

"Do you understand now? I need him _back _because he's the only one that has ever understood, even just a little bit. If the only way I'm going to get him back is meeting him in Hell, that's what I'll do. I just _want to be back with Maurice! _Killing you three will help me be more – more sane, and maybe Maurice will come back then. Maybe he's gone now because I'm _acting _crazy instead of just _being _crazy. It didn't scare him away when he was alive but maybe now that he's dead he has more freedom. Or maybe he was never with me after his death at all. Maybe I'm just crazy enough to think that he was.

"But that's it. Enjoy your last day on Earth. I'm going to take a nap."

…

He checked Ralph's pocket-watch and the watch said that it was one in the morning. Perfect. He took ahold of part of the chain and began to pull them out of the shed. He held a knife to Theresa's back so that they wouldn't try anything funny. He knew that Theresa wouldn't. She pitied him too much. She would let him do whatever he wanted. She might beg for her life when it came to her turn, but that was about it for Theresa.

They made their way to the bridge that Roger had decided on. It was out of the way, seemed like it was going to break any second, and nobody lived in the broken-down houses nearby. It had been one of Roger's favorite places before the island.

He pushed the three into a sitting position on the ground. Three. Eric, Theresa, Ralph. He would start with Eric.

He rolled up his sleeves and began.

* * *

**alright this is the first of three chapters that will make up the end of this story. i still need to figure out one thing but other than that i pretty much have the end mapped out. so. uh. i hope you enjoy these next few chapters.**


	30. The End Part Three: Jack

"Hey, you know what I just thought of?" Robert said. Jack, who had been trying to sleep, sat up and glared at him. Robert grinned a little. "Sorry. I know it's like one in the morning, but… d'ya think we should look for Roger now? I mean, is he really going to move around in the day? He's not stupid."

"You're right," Jack said, all thoughts of kicking Robert's face in for waking him up from his almost-sleep gone. "If he's doing something, he'll do it at night. That's when he killed Percival."

"Well," Robert said. "Let's go find ourselves a psycho."

Jack got dressed, ignoring the thoughts in the back of his mind that were saying things like _don't be stupid Jacky you can't get Roger _and _he'd see you two coming a mile away and hide _and _this is a big place and for all you know he could've moved on by now _No, he couldn't have moved on by now unless he moved really, really fast – it had been talked about all over, Ralph Roemers had been captured yesterday – well, technically, the day before yesterday. On Christmas Day.

It was December 27th… something else was December 27th, something else that Jack couldn't matter, so he dismissed it as unimportant and finished getting dressed. He grabbed the gun and tucked it into his jeans, following Robert out of the hotel room and out into the night. It was cold, but nice for December 27th, and he found himself enjoying the night. He could almost forget that he was heading out to hunt for his psychotic comrade-once-upon-a-time. (Or had he been Jack's friend? Comrade? Friend? Neither?) Even his tendency to slip away from reality was lessened with Robert's presence. Ralph may have been the sun, but Robert was a star. Burning brighter and brighter, about to explode and Jack was unable to take his eyes off of him.

"Where do you think he'd be?" Robert asked, drawing a bit closer to Jack.

Jack suddenly thought of the old bridge that Roger had often frequented on their breaks from school. He remembered stumbling across Roger sitting on the decrepit bridge more than once, he remembered screaming at Roger to get the hell off of there before the bridge broke and he fell into the fast-moving water below. Roger would usually ignore him at this point.

"Do you remember that old bridge, not far from where we went from school?" Jack asked hesitantly. Robert's forehead crinkled in concentration _oh great Jack you just imagined it. _Jack looked up at the sky – full moon. It gave off quite a bit of light, actually.

"Yeah!" Robert said at last. "The one that Roger was always hanging out on. Yeah, I remember that. We should head there."

Jack nodded at Robert and they set off that way.

Suddenly, Robert stopped, whipping out a hand to stop Jack. "What?" Jack hissed, annoyed. Robert raised a finger to his lips and crept forward. Jack followed, considerably more awkward and less athletic than the shorter boy. Eventually, Jack saw what he was following.

Bill and someone else – Jack couldn't quite tell who, but his gut instinct told him that it was one of the twins. Of course. Roger had the other one, it had been all over the news. Jack didn't know which one Roger had; he didn't particularly care about the twins but he supposed that he should have. Roger had liked tormenting the twins back on The Island. It was only natural that he would go after them now.

The twin with Bill turned around and shouted, pointing at them. Bill turned to look at them, too, and hurried toward them, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "You guys get the same idea we did?" he asked, breathless. Robert nodded. It was awkward between the two – Jack could see bruises on Bill's neck from Robert's attack on him. "Any idea where he is?"

"Jack thought that old bridge he used to hang out on," Robert said, crossing his arms over his chest and sending a sidelong glance toward Jack.

"Shit," Bill said. "Yeah, you're probably right. What do you think, Sam?"

So Roger had Eric.

Honestly, this didn't matter much to Jack – the twins were one person, as far as he was concerned. Samneric. They'd been identical last time he'd seen them (apart from unidentical bruises), and it was just too hard to tell them apart.

"How should I know?" Sam asked. Jack blinked. Well. Wasn't he in a bad mood _of course he's in a bad mood his twin has just been captured by the guy that probably stars in all of his nightmares. _

Bill gaped at Sam for a little bit, then shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Uh. Should we go?"

"Nobody's stopping us," Robert said. Jack smirked. Bill looked a little lost – he was back with the people he used to hang around with, but now it felt weird for him to be here. Jack could tell he was trying to fit back right in beside Robert and it wasn't working.

Robert began to walk again, and Jack followed after a brief pause. Bill and Sam fell in behind them, and in about ten minutes later they reached the bridge.

They were there.

Roger stood, holding a knife in one hand. Three people – Jack recognized Ralph and who must have been Eric, there was also a girl but Jack didn't know who she was – sat chained together in front of him. Roger was staring up at the moon as if he were waiting for something.

"I'm going to get him," Robert hissed. "The rest of you, hide or something and only come if I look like I need help. But I won't need help. He's so fucking skinny, the only reason he's gotten all of them is because he took them by surprise and has a knife."

"Yeah, he's going to stab you," Bill said, lifting up his shirt to show the remains of his stab wound. "Don't be a dumbass. I'll help you."

"No," Robert said. "If you really want to, try to get those guys free while I take out Roger. But I'm going to take this motherfucker down myself."

"Shut up, idiots," Jack snapped in a whisper. Roger had looked away from the moon and was staring straight at the fence they were crouched behind. After a few minutes, he looked back down to his victims.

The next few things happened so fast that Jack wasn't sure he'd seen them correctly. Roger stabbed down, slicing at Eric's stomach. Eric was gagged, but a muffled scream made its way through anyway. Robert leaped for Roger, who pulled the knife out and slashed at Robert, who ducked away and drove his shoulder into Roger's stomach. Roger toppled backward, landing hard on the bridge and gasping for breath. Robert pinned him down, wrenching the knife away from him and pinning his arms down with his knees.

Bill hurried to the group, and Jack followed, steering clear of Eric, who was shaking and sobbing and bleeding and really just kind of disgusting. "Fuck," Bill muttered. "They're _fucking locked together, how the hell did he get something like this."_

Jack left Bill to figure out how to get them free and went over to Robert and Roger. Roger was looking up at Bill with a blank expression on his face. Robert looked more than slightly unnerved. Jack met Roger's eyes and wished that he hadn't. His expression may have been blank, but his eyes weren't as dead as Jack was hoping. He swallowed, breaking eye contact.

"Get the knife," Robert said. Jack just looked at him. "I mean, uh, _please, _get the knife, Chief."

Jack managed a sort of stressed smile – it wasn't a smile, really, more like a grimace – and retrieved the knife. He met Roger's eyes again and dropped it by his hand.

Roger grinned suddenly, his fingers closing around the hilt. Robert looked down at him, panicked. "What the-" he didn't get to finish, because Roger's hand twisted grotesquely and stabbed the knife into Robert's back. Robert shrieked and Roger wriggled his way through, pulling the knife free and grinning all the while.

He smirked at Jack and headed over to his hostages. Bill was a bit away, digging through a backpack that must have been Roger's. _Damn it, Bill_, Jack thought. _Now he's got hostages and we're going to _have _to listen to him if we don't want them dead._

Ignoring the slowly dying Eric, Roger went to the girl, who looked at him with wide eyes. "Bill," Roger said, speaking for the first time since they'd stumbled upon him. "You're an asshole."

Bill jumped and turned to watch him. Roger smiled. "Um, in this situation, I think you're more of an asshole than I am," he said. Roger rolled his eyes. Bill looked slightly insulted. "What makes you say I'm an asshole?"

"Because this perfectly nice girl." Roger pulled her gag out of her mouth. She didn't speak. "Has such a crush on you, and you won't even acknowledge her."

"I did acknowledge her! I drove her home! I talked to her! I think she's a great girl, but…"

Bill was now staring at Roger, who looked at Bill and then kissed the girl. Jack saw the knife flash in his right hand and stab Ralph in the back.

_No no no no no no no nobody's allowed to kill Ralph but you nobody's allowed to get Ralph but you _Ralph _is _yours _no no no no you need to kill him_ He moved for Roger, but he was too slow, too slow, Roger ripped the knife up through Ralph's skin, and Ralph screamed.

Before Jack or Bill got there, Robert did. One hand pressed to his side, dark blood running through his fingers, he sprinted toward Roger, yanking him away from Theresa and, as a result, yanking the knife out of Ralph's back. Ralph slumped backward onto Theresa's shoulder, who still didn't say anything. Jack found this a bit odd.

"Don't touch me!" Roger yelled, twisting away. Robert gritted his teeth and grabbed onto Roger's shoulders. "No! You- _you don't touch me! Only Maurice touches me!"_

"Maurice is dead-" Bill started to say. Sam had moved to his twin, trying to stop the bleeding. Bill was over by Ralph, looking like he was fighting both tears and throwing up.

"I can be your new Maurice," Robert said. He was breathing hard. "Would- would you like that? If you had a new Maurice?"

He hugged Roger, and for a moment Jack thought it was going to be alright.

Then Robert screamed and Roger stepped away, pulling the knife out of Robert's stomach and very calmly wiping the blood off on his shirt. "Nobody can replace Maurice," he said simply. He walked over to the edge of the bridge and hopped up on part of the railing that was left. It creaked dangerously under his weight.

And, without another word, he tipped forward and fell, hitting the water with a splash.

The police showed up later and asked him a lot of questions. It all passed in a blur for Jack, and suddenly he was sitting in a hospital waiting room with Bill and Sam, who was pacing, waiting for news on his brother.

It was all his fault.

If he hadn't given Roger that knife, nobody would have had to die, nobody would have had to get hurt, they could have just gotten Roger back to the asylum and everyone would still be alive and well.

Nobody was confirmed dead, but Jack had a feeling that both Robert and Ralph were going to die.

"It's all my fault," Jack said. His voice was flat. "I- I gave the knife to him-"

"Shut up," Bill said. He was shaken up, clutching himself. "Just- shut up."

Jack nodded, staring down at his knees. He bit down hard on his tongue, tasting blood.

Someone official-looking was walking toward them. Sam stopped pacing. Jack and Bill got to their feet. "Well," the man said. "It looks like Eric is going to be okay."

"What about Ralph?" Bill blurted out. The man swallowed.

"He is in critical condition right now. He may live. He may not. It's all up to chance," the man said. "If he survives, he will be in the hospital for a good year, or maybe more. And Robert… well, Robert is dead."

Jack swallowed, staring at the ground. He'd known it would happen, but now that it was confirmed it felt horrible. It felt like something had been torn out of his chest; his star had burnt out and now there was a hole in his chest he didn't know if he could fill. "What about Theresa?" Bill asked. "Is she okay after her…"

"She's not going to die," the man said. "and has sustained mostly minor injuries. Not very many of those, either, especially compared to the other two. A mild concussion, and… her tongue has been cut out."

Bill jumped and Jack swallowed. He didn't know Theresa, but that was… that…

"Shit," Bill said hoarsely. He swallowed. "But she'll be alright?"

The man nodded.

"We'll all be alright," Jack said. Bill looked at him and sighed.

"Yeah," he said. "We will."

…

Far away from the hospital waiting room Jack, Bill, and Sam were in, a small, broken body washed onshore. His chest rose and fell with shallow, short breaths.

* * *

**and there's the end! there will be an epilogue in which I will wrap some more things up. but. yeah.**


	31. Epilogue

_Six Months Later_

The phone rang.

Bill jumped up, not bothering to excuse himself from the nice little gathering that had met in his living room. Cecelia, with an eyepatch over one eye but as bright and bubbly as ever. Theresa, who still had that inquisitive look in her eyes though she couldn't ask her questions. Sam and Eric were there, and even Jack was sitting uncomfortably in an armchair. But Bill left the gathering because who else would be phoning but the hospital?

"Hello?"

"Is this William Boudreau?"

"Yeah, uh, yes. Is this…" he trailed off, and the man on the other side laughed.

"It's Doctor Vacher," he said. "And I'm calling to tell you that Ralph Roemers is awake."

Bill grinned and tried his best to form coherent sentences. "Really? I mean- can I come see him? Can we come see him?"

"As long as you're not too loud," Doctor Vacher said. Bill hung up the phone and rushed back to the group.

"He's awake! He's fucking awake!" Bill said, the grin never leaving his face. He grabbed Theresa and kissed her, then grabbed Sam (or maybe it was Eric?) and kissed him too, ignoring the weird looks the other twin was giving him. "Let's go see him! Right now! Come on!"

"I'll stay here," Jack said abruptly, turning and heading out of the living room. Jack had been living with Bill and Cecelia after the fight that had occurred when Jack's parents found him. Theresa glanced at Jack's back and back to Bill, her face curious.

"I dunno," Bill said, shrugging. "He's just weird, I guess. Come on. We can all fit in my car if we don't mind being close."

Sam, Eric, and Cecelia sat in the backseat, Sam only grumbling about Theresa immediately claiming the passenger seat a little. Bill drove as fast as he could manage without crashing into anything, very nearly hitting (a) a dog, (b) a little kid, and (c) a house. He pulled into the hospital parking lot and practically leaped out of the car. He could hear the others following him.

As soon as he stepped through the doors of the hospital, a feeling of nervousness settled over him. Theresa slipped her hand into his, and he gave her a grateful look. Doctor Vacher stood waiting for them, and Bill had to consciously slow his steps so that he didn't run.

"Be quiet and follow me," the doctor said, turning and walking deeper into the hospital. Bill clutched Theresa's hand, swallowed nervously, and followed him.

They walked for what seemed like forever. Doctor Vachar stopped to talk to a few nurses and poked his head in a few rooms. It made Bill nervous.

Eventually, they got to Ralph's room. Bill couldn't help himself and burst in before anyone could tell him differently. Ralph was lying down, but his eyes were open, and he managed a weak smile when he saw Bill.

"Ralph!" Bill said. "Oh, uh, sorry. Um. I'll be quieter."

He hurried over to Ralph and grinned down at him. "You're okay."

"Yeah," Ralph said. His voice was weak. "What happened to him?"

Bill didn't even have to ask who he was talking about. "Threw himself in the river. Nobody's found his body."

Ralph nodded. "We're all going to be okay."

* * *

**the end**


End file.
